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Absalom  and  Achitophel.  Front. 

The  Parting  of  Charles  11.  and  James  11. 


THE 


POETICAL    ¥OEKS 


JOHN  DRYDEN. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  JOHN  FRANXLIN. 


NEW  YORK: 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  346  &  848  BROADWAY, 

AND  16  LITTLE  BEITAIN,  LONDON. 

M  DCCC  LYI. 


■;•? 


v^  ^''V 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
Memoir  op  D&tdek   ....      v 

♦^"Upon  the  Death  of  Lord  Hastings  1 
To  John  Hoddesdon  ....  3 
The  Death  of  Oliver  Cromwell    .      4 

Astraea  Redux 8 

To  Charles  the  Second  ....  16 
To  the  Lord  Chancellor  Hyde     .    19 

Satire  on  the  Dutch 23 

To  the  Duchess  of  York  ...  24 
Annus  Mirahilis 26 

#  Absalom  and  Achitophel    ...    64 

The  Medal 120 

*Religio  Laici 131 

Mac  Flecknoe 150 

Threnodia  Augustalis    .    .     .    .155 

♦The  Hind  and  the  Panther     .    .  168 

Britannia  Rediviva 231 

Epistles: — 
ToMr.  J.  Northleigh.    .     .    .240 
To  Sir  Robert  Howard    .    .    »    ib. 

To  Dr.  Charleton 243 

To  the  Lady  Castlemain  .    .    .  244 

To  Mr.  Lee 246 

To  the  Earl  of  Roscommon .  .  247 
To  the  Duchess  of  York  .  .  249 
A  Letter  to  Sir  Geo.  Etherege  .  250 

To  Mr.  Southern 252 

To  Henry  Higden,  Esq.      .     .  253 

To  Mr.  Congreve 254 

To  Mr.  Granville 256 

To  Mr.  Motteux 257 

To  John  Dryden 259 

To  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  .    .     .264 

Elegies  and  Epitaphs: — 

y--   To  Mr.  Qldham 268 

k^,»To  Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew       .    .     ib 
•^^      On  the  d^th  of  Earl  of  Dundee  273 

U-^   Eleonya* 274 

On  the  Death  of  Amyntas  .  .286 
On  a  very^Young  Gentleman  .  288 
Upon  Young  Master  Rogers  .  289 
On  the  Death  of  Mr.  Purcell  .  290 
On  the  Laav  Whitmore  .  .  .  ib. 
On  Sir  Palmes  Fairbone's  Tomb  291 
On  Miss  Ma^^  Frampton  .  .  ib. 
On  Mrs.  Maf^aret  Paston  .  .  292 
On  the  Marqfiis  of  Winchester.  293 
Under  the  Portrait  of  Milton    .    ib. 


Pace 
Tales  from  Chaucer:— 

To  the  Duchess  of  Ormond  .  .  204 
Palamon  and  Arcite  ....  298 
The  Cock  and  the  Fox  .  .  .354 
''^The  Flower  and  the  Leaf  .  .  373 
The  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale .  .  .388 
The  Character  of  a  Good  Parson  400 

Translations  from  Boccaccio: — 
Sigismonda  and  Guiscardo  .  .  404 
Theodore  and  Honoria  .  .  .  421 
Cymon  and  Iphigenia      .    .    .431 

Prologues  and  Epilogues  : — 
Prologues — 
To  "  The  Rival  Ladies  "  .  447 
To  "The  Indian  Queen"  .  448 
To  "  Sir  Martin  Marr-All "  .  449 
To  "The  Tempest"  .  .  .  ib. 
To  "  Tyrannic  Love "  .  .450 
Spoken  the  first  day  of  the 

King's  House  after  the  Fire  451 
To  "Amboyna"  ....  452 
Spoken  at  the  Opening  of  the 

New  House,  Mar.  26,  1674.  453 
To  the  University  of  Oxford.  454 

To  "Circe" 455 

•  To  "  Aurengezebe "...  456 
To  "  Limberham  "  .    .    .    .  457 

To  "OSdipus" 458 

To  "  Troilus  and  Cressida"  .  459 
To  "Caesar  Borgia"  .  .  .  460 
To  "Sophonisba,"  1680   .    .  461 

A  Prologue 462 

To  the  University  of  Oxford,  ib. 
To  his  Royal  Highness  .  ,  463 
To  "  The  Earl  of  Essex  "  .  465 
£  To  "The  Loyal  Brother"  .  466 
To  the  King  and  Queen  .  .  467 
To  the  University  pf  Oxford.  468 

469 

s 470 

To  "  Albion  and  Albanius  " .  471 
To  "  Arvira^us  and  Philicia"  473 
To  "  Don  Sebastian "  .  .  .  ib. 
To  "The  Prophetess"  .  .475 
To  the  "IVpstakes"  .  .  .476 
To  "King; Arthur"  .  .  ,  477  * 
To  "Albumazar"  ....  479 
To  "ThePUgrim"     .    .    .  480 


CONTENTS. 


Fage 

Epilogues— 

To  "  The  Indian  Queen  "  .  481 
To  "The  Indian  Emperor"  .  482 
To  "  The  WUd  Gallant "  .  .  483 
•  To  the  Second  Part  of  "  The 

Conquest  of  Granada  "  .     .  484 

To  "  Amboyna" 4S5 

Intended  to  have  been  spoken 

by   the    Lady  Hen.    Mar. 

Wentworth ih. 

To  *'  The  Man  of  Mode  "  .  .  486 
To  "All  for  Love".  .  .  .  4?  7 
To  "  Mithridates "  .    ,     .     .488 

To  "CEdipus" 489 

For  the  King's  House  .  .  .490 
Spoken  at  the  acting  of  "  The 

Silent  Woman"  .  .  .  .491 
Spoken  at  Oxford  .  .  .  .  492 
To  "  Albion  and  Albanius  " .  493 

To  "  Henry  II." 494 

An  Epilogue 495 

To  "The  Husband  his  own 

Cuckold" 496 

To  "  The  Pilgrim "      .    .     .497 

Odes,  Songs,  &c. — 

♦» Alexander's  Feast.     .    .     .    .498 

f  A  Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day    .  503 

The  Fair  Stranger 604 

On  the  Young  Statesmen   •    .  505 


Pace 

Odes,  Songs,  &c.  continued: — 

"  Farewell,  fair  Armida"  .  .  506 
"  A  choir  of  bright  beauties"  .  ib. 
"  Fair,  sweet,  and  young  "  .  .  507 
*'  High  state  and  honours"  .  »6. 
"  Go  tell  Amynta"  ....  508 
To  a  Fair  Young  Lady  .  .  .  ib. 
Veni  Creator  Spiriius  .  .  .  .509 
The  Secular  Masque  .  .  .  .510 
The  Scholar  and  his  Mistress  .513 
In  "  The  Indian  Emperor"      .  5i5 

In  "  The  Maiden  Queen"    .     .   ib. 
In  the  First  Part  of  "  The  Con- 
quest of  Granada"  .     .     .     .  516 
In  the  Second  Part  of  "  The 

Conquest  of  Granada"  .  .517 
The  Sea-Fight  in  "  /  mboyna  "  ib. 
Incantation  in  "  CEdipus  "  .  .518 
In  "  Albion  and  Albanius"      .519 

.    .    ib. 

.    .    ib. 

.     ,  520 

.     .    ib. 

In  "King  Arthur"     .    .    .    .  521 

: ib. 

522 

In   "King  Arthur."    To  Bri- 
tannia     522,  523 

In  "Love  Triumphant".    .    .624 


OF  THE     "^ 

UNIVERSITY 

GF 


JOHN  DETDEK 


John  Dryden,  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  was  born  at 
the  parsonage  house  of  Aldwinkle  All-Saints,  on  or  about 
the  9th  day  of  August,  1631 ;  his  father  Erasmus  was  the 
third  son  of  Sir  Erasmus  Dryden,  baronet,  of  Canons- 
Ashby,  in  the  county  of  Northampton.  The  village  then 
belonged  to  the  family  of  Exeter,  as  we  are  informed  by 
the  poet  himself,  in  the  postscript  to  his  Virgil.  That 
his  family  were  puritans  may  readily  be  admitted ;  but 
that  they  were  anabaptists,  although  confidently  asserted 
by  some  of  our  author's  political  or  poetical  antagonists, 
appears  altogether  improl^^ble.  Notwithstanding,  there- 
fore, the  sarcasm  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  register 
of  Aldwinkle  All-Saints  parish,  had  it  been  in  existence, 
would  probably  have  been  found  to  contain  the  record  of 
o*r  poet's  baptism. 

Dryden  seems  to  have  received  the  rudiments  of  his 
education  at  Tichmarsh,  and  was  admitted  a  king's  scholar 
at  Westminster,  under  the  tuition  of  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Bushby,  for  whom  he  ever  afterwards  entertained  the 
most  sincere  veneration.  Under  so  able  a  teacher,  he 
made  rapid  progress  in  classical  learning.  The  bent  of 
the  juvenile  poet,  even  at  this  early  period,  distinguished 
itself  He  translated  the  third  satire  of  Persius,  as  a 
Thursday  night's  task,  and  executed  many  other  exercises 
of  the  same  nature,  in  English  verse,  none  of  which  ar© 
now  in  existence.  During  the  last  year  of  his  residence 
at  "Westminster,  the  death  of  Henry  Lor4  H^^stingg, 
1* 


VI  JOHN  DRTDEN. 

a  young  nobleman  of  great  learning,  and  much  beloved, 
called  forth  no  less  than  ninety-eight  elegies,  one  of  which 
was  written  by  our  poet,  then  about  eighteen  years  old. 

Dryden,  having  obtained  a  Westminster  scholarship, 
was  admitted  to  Trinity  CoUege,  Cambridge,  on  the  11th 
May,  1650,  his  tutor  being  the  reverend  John  Templer, 
M.A.,  a  man  of  some  learning,  who  wrote  a  Latin  treatise 
in  confutation  of  Hobbes,  and  a  few  theological  tracts  and 
single  sermons. 

Of  his  school  performances  we  have  only  the  Elegy  on 
the  death  of  Lord  Hastings,  which  without  his  own  testi- 
mony is  enough  to  assure  us  thut  Cowley  was  his  model ; 
he  has  in  it  imitated  Cowley's  points  of  wit  and  quirks  of 
epigram,  with  a  similar  contempt  for  the  propriety  of 
their  application. 

He  took  the  degree  of  Bachelor,  in  January  1653—4,  but 
neither  became  Master  of  Arts,  nor  a  Fellow  of  the  univer- 
sity, and  certainly  never  retained  for  it  much  of  that  vene- 
ration usually  paid  by  an  Enghsh  scholar  to  his  Alma 
Mater. 

In  June  1654,  the  death  of  his  father,  Erasmus  Dryden, 
proved  a  temporary  interruption  to  our  author's  studies. 
He  left  the  university,  on  this  occasion,  to  take  possession 
of  his  inheritance,  consisting  of  two-thirds  of  a  small 
estate  hear  Blakesley,  in  Northamptonshire,  worth,  in  all, 
about  sixty  pounds  a-year.  The  other  third  part  of  this 
smaU  property  was  bequeathed  to  his  mother  during  her 
life,  and  the  property  reverted  to  the  poet  after  her  death 
in  1676.  With  this  little  patrimony  our  author  returned 
to  Cambridge,  where  he  continued  until  the  middle  of  the 
year  1657. 

After  leaving  the  university,  our  author  entered  the 
world,  supported  by  friends,  from  whose  character,  prin- 
ciples, and  situation,  it  might  have  been  prophesied,  with 
probabiUty,  that  his  success  in  life,  and  his  literary  repu- 
tation, would  have  been  exactly  the  reverse  of  what  they 
actually  proved.  Sir  Gilbert  Pickering  was  cousin-german 
to  the  poet,  and  also  to  his  mother ;  thus  standing  related 
to  Dryden  in  a  double  connexion.    This  gentleman  was 


JOHN  DRTDEN.  ^  Til 

a  staunch  puritan,  and  having  set  out  as  a  reformer,  ended 
by  being  a  regicide,  and  an  abettor  of  the  tyranny  of 
Cromwell.  He  was  one  of  the  judges  of  the  unfortunate 
Charles ;  and  though  he  did  not  sit  in  that  bloody  court 
upon  the  last  and  fatal  day,  yet  he  seems  to  have  con- 
curred in  the  most  violent  measures  of  the  unconscientious 
men  who  did  so.  He  had  been  one  of  the  parliamentary 
counsellors  of  state,  and  hesitated  not  to  be  numbered 
among  the  godly  and  discreet  persons  who  assisted  Crom- 
well as  a  privy  council.  Moreover,  he  was  lord  chamber- 
lain of  the  Protector's  court,  and  received  the  honoui*  of 
his  mock  peerage. 

The  patronage  of  such  a  person  was  more  likely  to  have 
elevated  Dryden  to  the  temporal  greatness  and  wealth 
acquired  by  the  sequestrators  and  committee-men  of  that 
oppressive  time,  than  to  have  aided  him  in  attaining  the 
summits  of  Parnassus. 

In  a  youth  entering  life  under  the  protection  of  such 
relations,  who  could  have  anticipated  the  future  dramatist 
and  poet-laureate,  much  less  the  advocate  and  martyr  of 
prerogative  and  of  the  Stuart  family,  the  convert  and  con- 
fessor of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  ?  In  his  after  career, 
his  early  connexions  with  the  puritans,  and  the  principles 
of  his  kinsmen  during  the  civil  wars  and  usurpation,  were 
often  made  subjects  of  reproach,  to  which  he  never  seems 
to  have  deigned  an  answer. 

The  death  of  Cromwell  was  the  first  theme  of  our  poet's 
muse.  Averse  as  the  puritans  were  to  any  poetry,  save 
that  of  Hopkins,  of  Withers,  or  of  Wisdom,  they  may  be 
reasonably  supposed  to  have  had  some  sympathy  with 
Dryden's  sorrow  upon  the  death  of  Oliver,  even  although 
it  vented  itself  in  the  profane  and  unprofitable  shape  of  an 


With  the  return  of  the  king,  the  fall  of  Dryden's  poli- 
tical patrons  was  necessarily  involved.  Sir  Gilbert  Picker- 
ing, having  been  one  of  Charles's  judges,  was  too  happy  to 
escape  into  obscurity,  under  an  absolute  disqualification 
for  holding  any  office, — ^political,  civil,  or  ecclesiastical. 
The  influence  of  Sir  John  Dryden  was  ended  at  the  same 


Vlll  JOHN   DRYDEN. 

time ;  and  thus  all  these  relations,  under  whose  protection 
Dryden  entered  life,  and  by  whose  influence  he  was  pro- 
bably to  have  been  aided  in  some  path  to  wealth  or 
eminence,  became  at  once  incapable  of  assisting  him ;  and 
even  connexion  with  them  was  rendered,  by  the  change  of 
times,  disgraceful,  if  not  dangerous.  Yet  it  may  be 
doubted  whether  Dryden  felt  this  evil  in  its  full  extent. 
Sterne  has  said  of  a  character, "  that  a  blessing  which  closed 
his  mouth,  or  a  misfortune  which  opened  it  with  a  good 
grace,  were  nearly  equal  to  him ;  nay,  that  sometimes  the 
misfortune  was  the  more  acceptable  of  the  two."  It  is 
possible,  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  that  Dryden  may  have 
felt  himself  rather  relieved  from,  than  deprived  of,  his 
fanatical  patrons,  under  whose  guidance  he  could  never 
hope  to  have  indulged  in  that  career  of  literary  pursuit, 
which  the  new  order  of  things  presented  to  the  ambition 
of  the  youthful  poet ;  at  least,  he  lost  no  time  in  useless 
lamentation,  but,  now  in  his  thirtieth  year,  proceeded  to 
exert  that  poetical  talent,  which  had  heretofore  been  re- 
pressed by  his  own  situation,  and  that  of  the  country. 

Dryden,  left  to  his  own  exertions,  hastened  to  testify 
his  joyful  acquiescence  in  the  restoration  of  monarchy,  by 
publishing  "  Astrcea  Redux,''  a  poem  which  was  probably 
distinguished  among  the  innumerable  congratulations 
poured  forth  upon  the  occasion;  and  he  added  to  those 
which  hailed  the  coronation,  in  1661,  the  verses  entitled 
"  A  Panegyric  to  his  Sacred  Majesty." 

Science,  as  well  as  poetry,  began  to  revive  after  the  iron 
dominion  of  military  fanaticism  was  ended ;  and  Dryden, 
who  through  life  was  attached  to  experimental  philosophy, 
speedily  associated  himself  with  those  who  took  interest 
in  its  progress.  He  was  chosen  a  member  of  the  newly 
instituted  Koyal  Society,  26th  November,  1662 ;  an  honour 
which  cemented  his  connexion  with  the  most  learned  men 
of  the  time,  and  is  an  evidence  of  the  respect  in  which  he 
was  already  held.  Most  of  these,  and  the  discoveries  by 
which  they  had  distinguished  themselves,  Dryden  took 
occasion  to  celebrate  in  his  "  Epistle  to  Dr.  Walter  Char- 
leton,"  a  learned  physician,  upon  his  treatise  of  Stone- 


JOHN  DRTDEN.  HC 

henge.  Gilbart,  Boyle,  Harvey,  and  Ent,  are  mentioned 
with  enthusiastic  applause,  as  treading  in  the  path  pointed 
out  by  Bacon,  who  first  broke  the  fetters  of  Aristotle,  and 
taught  the  world  to  derive  knowledge  from  experiment. 
In  these  elegant  verses,  the  author  divests  himself  of  all 
the  flippant  extravagance  of  point  and  quibble,  in  which, 
complying  with  his  age,  he  had  hitherto  indulged,  though 
of  late  in  a  limited  degree. 

The  victory  gained  by  the  Duke  of  York  over  the  Dutch 
fleet  on  the  3d  of  June,  1665,  and  his  Duchess's  subse- 
quent journey  into  the  north,  furnished  Dryden  with  the 
subject  of  a  few  occasional  verses,  in  which  the  style  of 
Waller  (who  came  forth  with  a  poem  on  the  same  subject) 
is  successfully  imitated. 

His  next  poem  was  of  greater  length  and  importance ; 
it  is  an  historical  account  of  the  events  of  the  year  1666, 
under  the  title  of  "  Annus  Mirubilis"  to  which  distinction 
the  incidents  which  had  occurred  in  that  space  gave  it 
some  title. 

The  ""Annus  Mirahilis  "  evinces  a  considerable  portion  of 
labour  and  attention  ;  the  lines  and  versification  are  highly 
polished,  and  the  expression  was  probably  carefully  cor- 
rected. "  Dryden,"  as  Johnson  remarks,  "  already  exercised 
the  superiority  of  his  genius,  by  recommending  his  own 
performance,  as  written  upon  the  plan  of  Virgil ;  and  as  no 
unsuccessful  effort  at  producing  those  well-wrought  images 
and  descriptions,  which  create  admiration,  the  proper 
object  of  heroic  poetry."  The  ^^  A^nus  Mirabilis^'  may 
indeed  be  regarded  as  one  of  Dryden's  most  elaborate 
pieces  ;  although  it  is  not  written  in  his  later,  better,  and 
most  peculiar  style  of  poetry.  Mr.  Hallam  says,  "  Variety 
is  its  chief  want,  as  dignity  is  its  greatest  excellence ;  but 
in  spite  of  this  defect,  and  of  much  bad  taste,  we  doubt 
whether  so  continued  a  strain  of  poetry  could  at  that  time 
be  found  in  the  language.  Waller's  *  Panegyric,'  at  least, 
and  Denham's  '  Cooper's  Hill,'  the  most  celebrated  poems 
of  the  age,  are  very  inferior  to  it." 

The  Restoration  brought  with  it  a  revival  of  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  stage,  which  under  the  Commonwealth  had 


r 


X  JOHN   DRYDEN. 

been  condemned  as  heathenish,  and  punished  as  apper- 
taining especially  to  the  favourers  of  royalty.  Dryden, 
therefore,  becoming  a  writer  of  plays,  was  a  necessary  con- 
sequence; for  the  theatres  newly  opened  after  so  long 
silence,  were  resorted  to  with  all  the  ardour  inspired  by 
novelty,  and  dramatic  composition  was  the  only  line  which 
promised  something  like  an  adequate  reward  to  the  pro- 
fessors of  literature.  Between  the  years  1661 — 4,  Dryden 
produced  "  The  Wild  Gallant,"  «  The  Rival  Ladies,"  and 
"  The  Indian  Emperor."  The  latter  play  had  most  ample 
success.  The  dreadful  fire  of  London,  in  1666,  however, 
put  a  stop  to  theatrical  amusements,  which  were  not  per- 
mitted till  the  following  Christmas. 

Our  author  had  assisted  Sir  Robert  Howard  in  the 
composition  of  a  rhyming  play,  called  "The  Indian 
Queen ; "  and  their  continued  friendship  introduced  the 
poet  to  Sir  Robert's  father,  the  Earl  of  Berkshire.  The 
consequence  of  this  intimacy  was,  that  Dryden  gained  the 
affections  of  Lady  Elizabeth  Howard,  the  Karl's  eldest 
daughter ;  and,  although  the  match  was  not  altogether 
agreeable  to  the  noble  family,  they  were  soon  after  mar- 
ried. Dryden's  manners  were  amiable,  his  reputation  as 
an  author  high,  and  his  moral  character  unexceptionable. 
The  noble  Earl  was  most  probably  soon  reconciled  to  the 
match,  for  Dryden  seems  to  have  resided  with  his  father- 
in-law  for  some  time,  since  it  is  from  the  Earl's  seat  at 
Charlton,  in  Wiltshire,  that  he  dated  the  introduction  to 
the  "  Annus  Mirahilis"  published  at  the  close  of  the  year 
1667. 

At  this  time  Dryden  was  engaged  in  his  "Essay  on 
Dramatic  Poesy,"  in  which  he  assumes  that  the  drama  was 
the  highest  department  of  poetry;  and  endeavours  to 
prove  that  rhyming  or  heroic  'tragedies  are  the  most  legi- 
timate offspring  of  the  drama.  The  subject  is  agitated  in 
a  dialogue  between  Lord  Buckhurst,  Sir  Charles  Sedley, 
Sir  Robert  Howard,  and  the  author  himself,  under  the 
feigned  names  of  Euge^ius,  Lisideus,  Crites,  and  Neander. 

He  next  produced  "  The  Maiden  Queen,"  his  version  of 
**  The  Tempest,"  "  Sir  Martin  Marr-aJl,"  and  other  dramas. 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  xi 

In  1670,  he  was,  on  the  death  of  Davenant,  appointed  poet- 
laureate,  and  also  to  the  office  of  royal  historiographer, 
with  a  salary  of  200/.  paid  quarterly,  and  the  celebrated 
annual  butt  of  canary. 

Dryden  continued  to  write  for  the  stage,  and  between 
the  age  of  thirty-five  and  sixty-three  produced  eight-and- 
twenty  pieces,  and  still  found  time  for  other  undertakings. 
It  is  not  our  purpose  to  farther  notice  his  dramas,  but 
devote  our  observations  to  the  contents  of  the  present 
volume,  and  his  translations  from  the  Greek  and  Latin 
authors. 

His  play-writing  and  theatrical  connexion  had  given  rise 
to  much  criticism  on  his  productions,  by  Settle,  Kochester, 
and  others,  which  were  replied  to  with  equal  virulence: 
but  the  controversies  in  which  Dryden  had  hitherto  been 
engaged,  were  of  a  private  complexion,  arising  out  of 
literary  disputes  and  rivalry.  But  the  country  was  now 
deeply  agitated  by  political  faction ;  and  so  powerful  an 
auxiliary  was  not  permitted  by  his  party  to  remain  in  a 
state  of  inactivity.  The  religion  of  the  Duke  of  York 
rendered  him  obnoxious  to  a  large  proportion  of  the 
people,  still  agitated  by  the  terrors  of  the  Popish  Plot. 
The  Duke  of  Monmouth,  handsome,  young,  brave,  and 
courteous,  had  all  the  external  requisites  for  a  popular 
idol ;  and  what  he  wanted  in  mental  qualities  was  amply 
supplied  by  the  Machiavel  subtlety  of  Shaftesbury.  The 
life  of  Charles  was  the  only  isthmus  between  these  con- 
tending tides,  "  which,  mounting,  viewed  each  other  from 
afar,  and  strove  in  vain  to  meet."  It  was  already  obvious, 
that  the  king's  death  was  to  be  the  signal  of  civil  war. 
His  situation  was  doubly  embarrassing,  because,  in  all 
probability,  Monmouth,  whose  claims  were  both  unjust  in 
themselves,  and  highly  derogatory  to  the  authority  of  the 
crown,  was  personally  amiable,  and  more  beloved  hj 
Charles  than  was  his  inflexible  and  bigoted  brother.  But 
to  consent  to  the  bill  for  excluding  the  lawfiil  heir  from 
the  crown,  would  have  been  at  the  same  time  putting 
himself  in  a  state  of  pupilage  for  the  rest  of  his  reign, 
and  evincing  to  his  subjects,  that  they  had  nothing  to 


XU  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

expect  from  attachment  to  his  person,  or  defence  of  his 
interest.  This  was  a  sacrifice  not  to  be  thought  of  so 
long  as  the  alreadful  recollection  of  the  wars  in  the  pre- 
ceding reign  determined  a  large  party  to  support  the 
monarch,  while  he  continued  willing  to  accept  of  their 
assistance.  Charles  accordingly  adopted  a  determined 
course  ;  and,  to  the  rage  rather  than  confusion  of  his 
partisans,  Monmouth  was  banished  to  Holland,  from 
whence  he  boldly  returned  without  the  king's  licence, 
and  openly  assumed  the  character  of  the  leader  of  a  party. 
Estranged  from  court,  he  made  various  progresses  through 
the  country,  and  employed  every  art  which  the  genius  of 
Shaftesbury  could  suggest,  to  stimulate  the  courage,  and 
to  increase  the  number,  of  his  partisans.  The  press,  that 
awful  power,  so  often  and  so  rashly  misused,  was  not  left 
idle.  Numbers  of  the  booksellers  were  distinguished  as 
Protestant  or  fanatical  publishers  ;  and  their  shops  teemed 
with  the  furious  declamations  of  Ferguson,  the  inflamma- 
tory sermons  of  Hickeringill,  the  political  disquisitions  of 
Hunt,  and  the  party  plays  and  libellous  poems  of  Settle 
and  Shadwell.  A  host  of  rhymers,  inferior  even  to  those 
last  named,  attacked  the  king,  the  Duke  of  York,  and  the 
ministry,  in  songs  and  libels,  which,  however  paltry,  were 
read,  sung,  rehearsed,  and  applauded.  It  was  time  that 
some  champion  should  appear  in  behalf  of  the  crown, 
before  the  public  should  have  been  irrecoverably  alienated 
by  the  incessant  and  slanderous  clamour  of  its  opponents. 
Dryden's  place,  talents,  and  mode  of  thinking,  qualified 
him  for  this  task.  He  was  the  poet-laureate  and  household 
servant  of  the  king,  thus  tumultuously  assailed.  His  vein 
of  satire  was  keen,  terse,  and  powerful,  beyond  any  that 
has  since  been  displayed.  From  the  time  of  the  Restora- 
tion, he  had  been  a  favourer  of  monarchy,  perhaps  more 
so,  because  the  opinion  divided  him  from  his  own  family. 
If  he  had  been  for  a  time  neglected,  the  smiles  of  a 
sovereign  soon  made  his  coldness  forgotten  j  and  if  his 
narrow  fortune  was  not  increased,  or  even  rendered  stable, 
he  had  promises  of  provision,  which  inclined  him  to  look 
to  the  future  with  hope,  and  endure  the  present  with 


JOHN    DKYDEX.  Xlll 

patience.  If  he  had  shared  in  the  discontent  which  for  a 
time  severed  Mulgrave  from  the  royal  party,  that  cause 
ceased  to  operate  when  his  patron  was  reconciled  to  the 
court,  and  received  a  share  of  the  spoils  of  the  disgraced 
Monmouth.  If  there  wanted  further  impulse  to  induce 
Dryden,  conscious  of  his  strength,  to  mingle  in  an  affray 
where  it  might  be  displayed  to  advantage,  he  had  the 
stimulus  of  personal  attachment  and  personal  enmity,  to 
sharpen  his  political  animosity.  Ormond,  Halifax,  and 
Hyde,  Earl  of  Rochester,  among  the  nobles,  were  his 
patrons;  Lee  and  Southerne,  among  the  poets,  were  his 
friends.  These  were  partisans  of  royalty.  The  Duke  of 
York,  whom  the  "  Spanish  Friar  "  probably  had  offended, 
was  conciliated  by  a  prologue  on  his  visiting  the  theatre  at 
his  return  from  Scotland,  and,  it  is  said,  by  the  omission  of 
certain  peculiarly  offensive  passages,  as  soon  as  the  play 
was  reprinted.  The  opposite  ranks  contained  Buckingham, 
author  of  the  "  Rehearsal ; "  Shadwell,  with  whom  our 
poet  now  waged  open  war  ;  and  Settle,  the  insolence  of 
whose  rivalry  was  neither  forgotten,  nor  duly  avenged. 
The  respect  due  to  Monmouth  was  probably  the  only 
consideration  to  be  overcome :  but  his  character  was  to  be 
handled  with  peculiar  lenity ;  and  his  duchess,  who,  rather 
than  himself,  had  patronised  Dry  den,  was  so  dissatisfied 
with  his  politics,  as  well  as  the  other  irregularities  of  her. 
husband,  that  there  was  no  danger  of  her  taking  a  gentle 
correction  of  his  ambition  as  any  affront  to  herself. 

Thus  stimulated  by  every  motive,  and  withheld  by  none, 
Dryden  composed,  and,  on  the  17th  November,  1681, 
published,  the  satire  of  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel." 

It  appeared  a  very  short  time  after  Shaftesbury  had 
been  committed  to  the  Tower,  and  only  a  few  days  before 
the  grand  jury  were  to  take  under  consideration  the  bill 
preferred  against  him  for  high  treason.  Its  sale  was  rapid 
beyond  example ;  and  even  those  who  were  most  severely 
characterised,  were  compelled  to  acknowledge  the  beauty, 
if  not  the  justice,  of  the  satire.  The  character  of  Mon- 
mouth, an  easy  and  gentle  temper,  inflamed  beyond  its 
iiaual  pitch  by  ambition,  and  seduced  by  the  arts  of  a  wily 
2 


XIV  JOHN  DRTDEN, 

and  interested  associate,  is  touched  with -exquisite  deli- 
cacy. The  poet  is  as  careful  of  the  offending  Absalom's 
fame,  as  the  father  in  Scripture  of  the  life  of  his  rebel 
son.  The  fairer  side  of  his  character  is  industriously  pre- 
sented, and  a  veil  drawn  over  all  that  was  worthy  of  blame. 
But  Shaftesbury  pays  the  lenity  with  which  Monmouth  is 
dismissed.^  The  traits  of  praisp,  arirl  th^  tribute  paidto 
that  statesman's  talents,  are  so  qualified  and  artfully 
blended  with  censure,  that  they  seem  to  render  his  faulty 
even  niore  conspicuous,  and  more  hateful.  In  this  skilful 
mixture  of' applauseandjblame  lies  the  nicest  art  ol  satire. 
There  musTIBean  appp.flrfl.ppf?  of  r-andour  on  the  part  of 
tne  poet,  and_^iust  so  much  ^erit^  allowed,  even  to  tbe 
object  of  ills  censure,  as  to  make  his  picture  natural.  It  is 
a*child  alone  who  fears  the  aggravated  terrors  of  a  Sara- 
cen's head;  the  painter,  who  would  move  the  awe  of  an 
enlightened  spectator,  must  delineate  his  tyrant  with 
human  features.  It  seems  likely,  that  Dryden  considered 
the  portrait  of  Shaftesbury,  in  the  first  edition  of  "  Ab- 
salom and  Achitophel,"  as  somewhat  deficient  in  this 
respect ;  at  least  the  second  edition  contains  twelve  addi- 
tional lines,  the  principal  tendency  of  which  is  to  praise 
the  ability  and  integrity  with  which  Shaftesbury  had  dis- 
charged the  office  of  Lord  High  Chancellor. 

The  success  of  this  wonderful  satire  was  so  great,  that 
the  court  had  again  recourse  to  the  assistance  of  its  author. 
Shaftesbury  was  now  liberated  from  the  Tower ;  for  the 
grand  jury,  partly  influenced  by  deficiency  of  proof,  and 
partly  by  the  principles  of  the  Whig  party,  out  of  which 
the  sheriffs  had  carefully  selected  them,  refused  to  find  the 
bill  of  high  treason  against  him.  This  was  a  subject  of 
unbounded  triumph  to  his  adherents,  who  celebrated  his 
acquittal  by  the  most  public  marks  of  rejoicing.  Amongst 
others,  a  medal  was  struck,  bearing  the  head  and  name  of 
Shaftesbury,  and  on  the  reverse,  a  sun,  obscured  with  a 
cloud,  rising  over  the  Tower  and  city  of  London,  with  the 
date  of  the  refusal  of  the  bill,  (24tb.  November,  1681,)  and 
the  motto,  "  l^etamur."  These  medals,  which  his  partisans 
wore  ostentatiously  at  their  bosoms,  excited  the  general 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  XV 

indignation  of  the  Tories  ;  and  the  king  himself  is  said  to 
have  suggested  it  as  a  theme  for  the  satirical  muse  of 
Dryden,  and  to  have  rewarded  his  performance  with  a 
hundred  broad  pieces.  To  a  poet  of  less  fertility,  the 
royal  command  to  write  again  upon  a  character  which,  in 
a  former  satire,  he  had  drawn  with  so  much  precision  and 
felicity,  might  have  been  as  embarrassing  at  least  as 
honourable.  But  Dryden  was  inexhaustible ;  and  easily 
discovered,  that,  though  he  had  given  the  outline  of  Shaf- 
tesbury in  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  the  finished  colour- 
ing might  merit  another  canvass.  About  the  16th  of 
March,  1681,  he  published,  anonymously,  "  The  Medal,  a 
Satire  against  Sedition,"  with  the  apt  motto, — 

"  Per  Graium  populos,  mediaeque  per  Elidis  urbem 
Ibat  ovans;  Divumque  sibi  poscebat  honores." 

It  is  said  that  it  was  Charles  II.  who  gave  Dryden 
the  hint  for  writing  his  poem  called  "  The  Medal."  One 
day,  as  the  king  was  walking  in  the  Mall,  and  talking  with 
Dryden,  he  said,  "If  I  was  a  poet,  (and  I  think  I  am 
poor  enough  to  be  one,)  I  would  write  a  poem  on  such  a 
subject  in  the  following  manner  ; "  and  then  gave  him  the 
plan  for  it.  Dryden  took  the  hint,  carried  the  poem,  as 
soon  as  it  was  written,  to  the  king,  and  had  a  present  of  a 
hundred  broad  pieces  for  it. 

In  this  satire,  Shaftesbury's  history;  his  frequent  po- 
litical apostasies  ;  his  licentious  course  of  life,  so  contrary 
to  the  stern  rigour  of  the  fanatics,  with  whom  he  had 
associated ;  his  arts  in  instigating  the  fury  of  the  anti- 
monarchists  ;  in  fine,  all  political  and  moral  bearings  of  his 
character, — are  sounded,  and  exposed  to  contempt  and 
reprobation,  the  beauty  of  the  poetry  adding  grace  to  the 
severity  of  the  satire.  What  impression  these  vigorous 
and  well-aimed  darts  made  upon  Shaftesbury,  who  was  so 
capable  of  estimating  their  sharpness  and  force,  we  have 
no  means  to  ascertain  ;  but  long  afterwards,  his  grandson, 
the  author  of  the  "  Characteristics,"  speaks  of  Dryden  and 
his  works  with  a  bitter  ajffectation  of  contempt,  offensive 
to  every  reader  of  judgment,  and  obviously  formed  on 


XVI  JOHN  DRYDBN. 

prejudice  against  the  man,  rather  than  dislike  to  the  poetry. 
It  is  said,  that  he  felt  more  resentment  on  account  of  the 
character  of  imbecility  adjudged  to  his  father,  in  "  xVbsalom 
and  Achitophel,"  than  for  all  the  pungent  satire,  there  and 
in  the  "  Medal,"  bestowed  upon  his  grandfather  ;  an  ad- 
ditional proof,  how  much  more  easy  it  is  to  bear  those 
reflections  which  render'  ourselves  or- our  friends  hateful, 
than  those  by  which  they  are  only  made  ridiculous  and^ 
contemptible. 
<A.  dispute  with  Shadwell,  the  dramatist,  caused  Dryden 
to  compose  "  Mac  Flecknoe,  or  a  Satire  on  the  True-Blue 
Protestant  Poet,  T.  S.,  by  the  author  of  Absalom  ai!d  Achi- 
tophel,"  which  was  published  4th  October,  1682.  Eichard 
Flecknoe,  from  whom  the  piece  takes  its  title,  was  so  dis- 
tinguished as  a  wretched  poet,  that  his  name  had  become 
almost  proverbial.  Shadwell  is  represented  as  the  adopted 
son  of  this  venerable  monarch,  who  so  long 

"  In  prose  and  verse  was  own'd  without  dispute, 
Through  all  the  realms  of  Nonsense  absolute." 

The  solemn  inauguration  of  Shadwell  as  his  successor  in 
this  drowsy  kingdom,  forms  the  plan  of  the  poem  ;  being 
the  same  which  Pope  afterwards  adopted  on  a  broader 
canvass  for  his  "  Dunciad."  The  vices  and  follies  of 
Shadwell  are  not  concealed,  while  the  awkwardness  of  his 
pretensions  to  poetical  fame  are  held  up  to  the  keenest 
.  ridicule.  In  an  evil  hour,  leaving  the  composition  of  low 
comedy,  in  which  he  held  an  honourable  station,  he  adven- 
tured upon  the  composition  of  operas  and  pastorals.  On 
these  the  satirist  falls  without  mercy ;  and  ridicules,  at  the 
same  time,  his  pretensions  to  copy  Ben  Jonson. 

This  unmerciful  satire  was  sold  off  in  a  very  short  time  ; 
and  it  seems  uncertain  whether  it  was  again  published 
until  168,4,  when  it  appeared,  with  the  author's  name,  in 
Ponson's  first  Miscellany.  It  would  seem  that  Dryden 
did  not  at  first  avow  it,  though,  as  the  title-page  assigned 
it  to  the  author  of  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  we  cannot 
believe  Shadwell's  assertion,  that  he  had  denied  it  with 
oaths  and  imprecations.  Dryden,  however,  omits  this 
satire  in  the  printed  list  of  his  plays  and  poems,  along 


JOHN  DRYDEN.  xvii 

with  the  Eulogy  on  Cromwell.  But  he  was  so  far  from 
disowning  it,  that  in  his  "  Essay  on  Satire,"  he  quotes 
"  Mac  Flecknoe"  as  an  instance  given  by  himself  of  the 
Varronian  satire. 

"  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  and  "  The  Medal,"  having 
been  so  successful,  a  second  part  to  the  first  poem  was 
resolved  on,  for  the  purpose  of  sketching  the  minor  cha- 
racters of  the  contending  factions.  Dryden,  probably  con- 
ceiving that  he  had  already  done  his  part,  only  revised  this 
additional  book,  and  contributed  about  two  hundred  lines. 
The  body  of  the  poem  was  written  by  Nahum  Tate,  one  of 
those  second-rate'  bards,  who,  by  dint  of  pleonasm  and 
expletive,  can  find  spaooth  lines  if  any  one  will  supply 
them  with  ideas.  The  Second  Part  of  "  Absalom  and  Achi- 
tophel "  is,  however,  much  beyond  his  usual  pitch,  and 
exhibits  considerable  marks  of  a  careful  revision  by  Dryden, 
especially  in  the  satirical  passages  ;  for  the  eulogy  on  the 
Tory  chiefs  is  in  the  flat  and  feeble  strain  of  Tate  himself, 
as  is  obvious  when  it  is  compared  with  the  description  of 
the  Green-Dragon  Club,  the  character  of  Corah,  and  other 
passages  exhibiting  marks  of  Dryden's  hand. 

But  if  the  Second  Part  of  *'  Absalom  and  Achitophel " 
fell  below  the  First  in  its  general  tone,  the  celebrated 
passage  inserted  by  Dryden  possessed  even  a  double  portion 
of  the  original  spirit.  The  victims  whom  he  selected  out 
of  the  partisans  of  Monmouth  and  Shaftesbury  for  his  own 
particular  severity,  were  Robert  Ferguson,  afterwards  well 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Plotter ;  Forbes  ;  Johnson, 
author  of  the  parallel  between  James,  Duke  of  York,  and 
Julian  the  Apostate  ;  but,  above  all.  Settle  and  Shad  well, 
whom,  under  the  names  of  Doeg  and  Og,  he  has  depicted 
in  the  liveliest  colours  his  poignant  satire  could  afibrd. 

The  Second  Part  of  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel "  was 
followed  by  the  ^'' Religio  Laici^'  a  poem  which  Dryden 
published  in  the  same  month  of  November,  1682.  Its  ten- 
dency, although  of  a  political  nature,  is  so  different  from 
that  of  the  satires,  that  it  will  be  most  properly  con- 
sidered when  we  can  place  it  in  contrast  to  the  "  Hind  and 
Panther." 

2* 


XVlll  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

Dryden,  by  the  king's  express  command,  was  engaged  in 
a  work  which  may  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  illustration 
of  the  doctrines  laid  down  in  the  "  Vindication  of  the  Duke 
of  Guise."  It  was  the  translation  of  Maimbourg's  "  His- 
tory of  the  League,"  expressly  composed  to  draw  a  parallel 
between  the  Huguenots  of  France  and  the  Leaguers,  as 
both  equal  enemies  of  the  monarchy.  Tliis  comparison 
was  easily  transferred  to  the  sectaries  of  England,  and  the 
association  proposed  by  Shaftesbury.  The  work  was  pub- 
lished with  unusual  solemnity  of  title-page  and  frontispiece ; 
the  former  declaring,  that  the  translation  was  made  by  his 
majesty's  command  ;  the  latter  representing  Charles  on  his 
throne,  surrounded  by  emblems  expressive  of  hereditary 
and  indefeasible  right. 

This  translation  was  to  be  the  last  service  which  Dryden 
was  to  render  his  good-humoured,  selfish,  and  thoughtless 
patron.  While  the  laureate  was  preparing  for  the  stage  the 
opera  of  "  Albion  and  Albanius,"  intended  to  solemnize  the 
triumph  of  Charles  over  the  Whigs,  or,  as  the  author  ex- 
pressed it,  the  double  restoration  of  his  sacred  majesty, 
the  king  died  of  an  apoplexy,  upon  the  6th  February, 
1684-5. 

The  accession  of  James  II.  to  the  British  throne  excited 
new  hopes  in  all  orders  of  men.  On  the  accession  of  a  new 
prince,  the  loyal  looked  to  rewards,  the  rebellious  to  am- 
nesty. The  Catholics  exulted  in  beholding  one  of  their 
persuasion  attain  the  crown  after  an  interval  of  two  cen- 
turies ;  the  Church  of  England  expected  the  fruits  of  her 
unlimited  devotion  to  the  royal  line ;  even  the  sectaries 
might  hope  indulgence  from  a  prince,  whose  religion  devi- 
ated from  that  established  by  law  as  widely  as  their  own. 
All,  therefore,  hastened,  in  sugared  addresses,  to  lament 
the  sun  which  had  set,  and  hail  the  beams  of  that  which 
had  arisen.  Dryden,  among  other  expectants,  chose  the 
more  honourable  of  these  themes  ;  and  in  the  "  Threnodia 
August  alls"  at  once  paid  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the 
deceased  monarch,  and  decently  solicited  the  attention  of 
his  successor. 

We  have  now  reached  a  remarkable  incident  in  our 


JOHN  DRTDEN.  3UX 

author's  life,  his  conversion  to  the  faith  of  Rome,  which  took 
place  shortly  after  the  accession  of  James  II.  The  principal 
clue  to  the  progress  of  his  religious  principle  is  to  be  found 
in  the  poet's  own  hues  in  "  The  Hind  and  Panther,"  and 
may,  by  a  very  simple  commentary,  be  applied  to  the  state 
of  his  religious  opinions  at  different  periods  of  his  life. 
The  appearance  of  the  polemical  poem  of  "  The  Hind  and 
Panther  "  excited  a  far  greater  clamour  against  the  author 
than  the  publication  of  <*  Absalom  and  Achitophel."  It 
was  printed  at  the  same  time  both  at  London  and  Edin- 
burgh, and  went  rapidly  through  three  editions.  In  1687 
he  produced,  for  the  festival,  the  "  Ode  to  Cecilia."  An 
event  deemed  of  the  utmost  and  most  beneficial  importance 
to  the  family  of  Stuart,  but  which,  according  to  their 
usual  ill-fortune,  helped  to  precipitate  their  ruin,  next 
called  forth  the  public  gratulation  of  the  poet-laureate. 
This  was  the  birth  of  that  "  son  of  prayers,"  prophesied  in 
the  dedication  to  Xavier,  whom  the  English,  with  obstinate 
incredulity,  long  chose  to  consider  as  an  impostor,  grafted 
upon  the  royal  line,  to  the  prejudice  of  the  Protestant  suc- 
cession. Dryden's  "  Britannia  Rediviva  "  hailed,  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  Catholic  and  a  poet,  the  very  event,  which, 
removing  all  hope  of  succession  in  the  course  of  nature, 
precipitated  the  measures  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  ex- 
hausted the  patience  of  the  exasperated  people,  and  led 
them  violently  to  extirpate  a  hated  dynasty,  which  seemed 
likely  to  be  protracted  by  a  new  reign. 

After  the  Revolution,  Dryden  began  to  lay  the  foundation 
for  a  new  structure  of  fame  and  popularity,  in  the  tragedy 
of  "  Don  Sebastian,"  which  is  justly  considered  as  the  chef- 
d'oeuvre  of  his  plays ;  and,  thus  encouraged  by  a  revival  of 
his  popularity,  ventured  to  bring  forward  the  opera  of 
"  King  Arthur,"  and  to  it  affixed  a  beautiful  dedication  to 
tlie  Marquis  of  Halifax.  The  music  to  the  opera  was  com- 
posed by  Purcel.  The  piece  was  eminently  successful. 
Shortly  after,  he  translated  five  of  the  Satires  of  Juvenal, 
and  the  whole  of  Persius.  For  Tonson's  Miscellany  he 
executed  translations  of  Ovid  and  Homer.  The  success  of 
these  taught  the  publisher  the  value  placed  by  the  public 


XX  JOHN  DRYDEN. 

on  Dryden's  translations,  who  accordingly  agreed  witli  him 
for  the  translation  of  Virgil,  for  which  Dryden  received 
above  1,200/.  Virgil  was  just  finished,  when  Dryden  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  the  immortal  ode  commonly  called 
"  Alexander's  Feast." 

Not  long  after,  our  author  engaged  himself  in  the  compo- 
sition of  those  imitations  of  Boccaccio  and  Chaucer,  which 
have  since  been  called  the  "  Fables."  One  of  these,  the 
"  Character  of  a  good  Parson,"  he  undertook  at  the  instiga^- 
tion  ot  Mr.  Pepys,  the  founder  of  the  hbrary  in  Magdalen 
College,  Cambridge.  The  "  Fables  "  were  dedicated  to  the 
last  Duke  of  Ormond,  whose  father  and  grandfather  had 
both  been  friends  and  patrons  of  Dry  den's  earlier  essays; 
and  to  them  was  also  affixed  the  introductory  verses  to  the 
beautiful  Duchess  :  this  incense  was  acknowledged  by  a 
donation  of  500/. 

Dryden  had  for  some  years  suffered  both  by  gout  and 
gi-avel,  and  latterly  the  erysipelas  seized  one  of  his  1  gs. 
To  a  shattered  frame  and  corpulent  habits,  the  most  trifling 
accident  is  often  fatal :  a  shght  inflammaticm  in  one  of  his 
toes  became,  from  neglect,  a  gangrene ;  to  prevent  morti- 
fication the  surgeon  proposed  to  amputate  the  limb,  but 
Dryden  refused  the  chance,  and  died,  on  the  1st  of  May, 
1700.  He  was  sensible  till  nearly  the  last,  and  died  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  faith,  with  submission  and  entire  resig- 
nation to  the  Divine  will,  "  taking  of  his  friends  so  tender 
and  obliging  a  farewell  as  none  but  he  himself  could  have 
expressed." 

His  family  were  preparing  to  bury  him  in  a  manner 
becoming  their  limited  circumstances,  when  several  men 
of  quality  made  a  subscription  for  a  pubHc  funeral.  The 
body  was  removed  to  Physicians'  Hall,  where  it  was  em- 
balmed, and  lay  in  state  till  the  13th  of  May  ;  on  that  day 
the  celebrated  Dr.  Garth  pronounced  a  Latin  oration  over 
the  remains  of  his  deceased  friend,  which  were  then,  in 
state,  conveyed  to  Westminster  Abbey,  and  deposited 
between  the  graves  of  Chaucer  and  Cowley. 


^^l^U^^ 


OF  THE 


UNIVEF 

CF 


The  Art  of  Poetry. 


OF  THiL 

UNIVERSITY    ,       . 

^  OF     i:VJ, 


UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  LOBD  HASTINGS. 


Must  noble  Hastings  immaturely  die, 

Tlie  honour  of  his  ancient  family, 

Beauty  and  learning  thus  together  meet, 

To  bring  a  winding  for  a  wedding  sheet  ? 

Must  virtue  prove  death's  harbinger  1  must  she, 

With  him  expiring,  feel  mortality  ? 

Is  death,  sin's  wages,  grace's  now  ?  shaU  art 

Make  us  more  learned,  only  to  depart  t 

If  merit  be  disease  ;  if  virtue  death  ; 

To  be  good,  not  to  be  ;  who  'd  then  bequeath 

Himself  to  discipline  ?  who'd  not  esteem 

Labour  a  crime  1  study  self-murther  deem  ] 

Our  noble  youth  now  have  pretence  to  be 

Dunces  securely,  ignorant  healthfully. 

Rare  linguist,  whose  worth  speaks  itself,  whose  praisa^ 

Though  not  his  own,  all  tongues  besides  do  raise : 

Than  whom  great  Alexander  may  seem  less  ; 

Who  conquer'd  men,  but  not  their  languages. 

In  his  mouth  nations  spake  ;  his  tongue  might  be 

Interpreter  to  Greece,  France,  Italy. 

His  native  soil  was  the  four  parts  o'  the  earth  ; 

All  Europe  was  too  narrow  for  his  birth. 

A  young  apostle  ;  and,  with  reverence  may 

I  speak  it,  inspired  with  gift  of  tongues,  as  they. 

Nature  gave  him,  a  child,  what  men  in  vain 

Oft  strive,  by  art  though  fiirther'd,  to  obtain. 

His  body  was  an  orb,  his  sublime  soul 

Did  move  on  virtue's  and  on  learning's  pole : 

Whose  regular  motions  better  to  our  view, 

Than  Archimedes'  sphere,  the  heavens  did  shew. 

Graces  and  virtues,  languages  and  arts. 

Beauty  and  learning,  fiU'd  up  all  the  parts. 

Heaven's  gifts,  which  do  like  falling  stars  appear 

Scatter 'd  in  others  ;  aU,  as  in  their  sphere,- 

Were  fix'd,  conglobate  in  his  soul ;  and  thence 

Shone  through  his  body,  with  sweet  influence  ; 


2  THE  DEATH  OP  LORD  HASTINGS.       • 

Lettiiag  taeir  glories  so  ou  each  limb  fall, 
The  whole  frame  render'd  was  celestial. 
^Cvome,  kamed  ptolemy,  and  trial  make, 
:  >i,f  thou  .bhia  iiero'^.s  altitude  canst  take  : 

But  that  transcends  thy  skiU  ;  thrice  happy  all, 

Could  we  but  prove  thus  astronomical. 

Lived  Tycho  now,  struck  with  this  ray,  which  shone 

More  bright  in  the  morn,  than  others  beam  at  noon, 

He'd  take  his  astrolabe,  and  seek  out  here 

What  new  star  'twas  did  gild  our  hemisphere. 

Replenish'd  then  with  such  rare  gifts  as  these, 

"Where  was  room  left  for  such  a  foul  disease  1 

The  nation's  sin  hath  drawn  that  veil,  which  shrouds 

Our  day-spring  in  so  sad  benighting  clouds  ; 

Heaven  would  no  longer  trust  its  pledge  ;  but  thus 

RecaU'd  it ;  rapt  its  Ganymede  from  us. 

Was  there  no  milder  way  but  the  small-pox. 

The  very  filthiness  of  Pandora^  box  ? 

^o  many  spots,  like  nseves  on  Venus'  soil. 

One  jewel  set  off  with  so  many  a  foil ; 

Blisters  with  pride  swell'd,  which  through 's  flesh  did  sprout 

Like  rose-buds,  stuck  in  the  lily  skin  about. 

Each  little  pimple  had  a  tear  in  it. 

To  wail  the  fault  its  rising  did  commit : 

Which,  rebel-hke,  with  its  own  lord  at'strife, 

Thus  made  an  insurrection  'gainst  his  life. 

Or  were  these  gems  sent  to  adorn  his  skin, 

The  cabinet  of  a  richer  soul  within  ? 

No  comet  need  foretel  his  change  drew  on. 

Whose  corpse  might  seem  a  constellation. 

0  !  had  he  died  of  old,  how  great  a  strife 

Had  been,  who  from  his  death  should  draw  their  life  ? 

Who  should,  by  one  rich  draught,  become  whate'er 

Seneca,  Cato,  Numa,  Csesar,  were  ? 

Learn'd,  virtuous,  pious,  great ;  and  have  by  this 

An  universal  metempsychosis. 

Must  all  these  aged  fires  in  one  funeral 

Expire  ?  all  die  in  one  so  young,  so  small  ? 

Who,  had  he  lived  his  hfe  out,  his  great  fame 

Had  swoU'n  'bove  any  Greek  or  Boman  name. 

But  hasty  winter,  with  one  blast,  hath  brought 

The  hopes  of  autumn,  summer,  spring,  to  nought. 

Thus  fad.QS  the  oak  in  the  sprig,  in  the  blade  the  com ; 

Thus  without  young,  this  Phoenix  dies,  new-born. 


TO  JOHN  HODDESDON. 

Must  then  old  three-legg'd  grey-beards  with  their  gout, 
Catarrhs,  rheums,  aches,  Hve  three  ages  out  1 
Time's  offals,  only  fit  for  the  hospital ! 
Or  to  hang  antiquaries'  rooms  withal ! 
Must  drunkards,  lechers,  spent  with  sinning,  live 
With  such  helps  as  broths,  possets,  physic  give  ? 
None  live,  but  such  as  should  die  1  shall  we  meet 
With  none  but  ghostly  fathers  in  the  street  1 
Grief  makes  me  rail ;  sorrow  will  force  its  way ; 
And  showers  of  tears  tempestuous  sighs  best  lay. 
The  tongue  may  fail ;  but  overflowing  eyes 
Will  weep  out  lasting  streams  of  elegies. 

But  thou,  0  virgin-widow,  left  alone, 
Now  thy  beloved,  heaven-ravish'd  spouse  is  gone, 
Whose  skilful  sire  in  vain  strove  to  apply 
Med'cines,  when  thy  balm  was  no  remedy, 
With  greater  than  Platonic  love,  O  wed 
His  soul,  though  not  his  body,  to  thy  bed : 
Let  that  make  thee  a  mother  ;  bring  thou  forth 
The  ideas  of  his  virtue,  knowledge,  worth  ; 
Transcribe  the  original  in  new  copies  ;  give 
Hastings  of  the  better  part :  so  shall  he  hve 
In  his  nobler  half ;  and  the  great  grandsire  be 
Of  an  heroic  divine  progeny  : 
An  issue,  which  to  eternity  shall  last, 
Yet  but  the  irradiations  which  he  cast. 
Erect  no  mausoleums  :  for  his  best 
Monument  is  his  spouse's  marble  breast. 


ro  HIS  FEIEND  THE  AUTHOR,  JOHN  HODDESDON 

ON  HIS  DIVINE  EPIGRAMS. 

Thou  hast  inspired  me  with  thy  soul,  and  I 
Who  ne'er  before  could  ken  of  Poetry, 
Am  grown  so  good  proficient,  I  can  lend 
A  Hne  in  commendation  of  my  friend. 
Yet  'tis  but  of  the  second  hand  ;  if  ought 
There  be  in  this,  'tis  from  thy  fancy  brought. 
Good  thief,  who  dar'st,  Prometheus-hke,  aspire, 
And  fill  thy  poems  with  celestial  fire  : 


THE  DEATH  OF  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

Enliven'd  by  these  sparks  divine,  their  rays 
Add  a  bright  lustre  to  thy  crown  of  bays. 
Young  eaglet,  who  thy  nest  thus  soon  forsook, 
So  lofty  and  divine  a  course  hast  took 
As  all  admire,  before  the  down  begin 
.  To  peep,  as  yet,  upon  thy  smoother  chin  ; 
And,  making  heaven  thy  aim,  hast  had  the  grace 
To  look  the  sun  of  righteousness  i'  th'  face. 
What  may  we  hope,  if  thou  go'st  on  thus  fast, 
Scriptures  at  first ;  enthusiasms  at  last ! 
Thou  hast  commenced,  betimes,  a  saint ;  go  on, 
Mingling  diviner  streams  with  Helicon  ; 
That  they  who  view  what  Epigrams  here  be. 
May  learn  to  make  hke,  in  just  praise  of  thee. 
Reader,  I've  done,  nor  longer  will  withhold 
Thy  greedy  eyes  ;  looking  on  this  pure  gold 
Thou  'It  know  adulterate  copper,  which,  hke  this, 
Will  only  serve  to  be  a  foil  to  his. 


HEROIC  STANZAS  ON  THE   DEATH   OF  OLIVER 
CROMWELL. 

WRITTEN  AFTER  HIS  FUNERAL. 

And  now  'tis  time  ;  for  their  officious  haste, 
Who  would  before  have  borne  him  to  the  sky, 

Like  eager  Romans,  ere  all  rites  were  past. 
Did  let  too  soon  the  sacred  eagle  fly. 

Though  our  best  notes  are  treason  to  his  fame, 
Join'd  with  the  loud  applause  of  public  voice  ; 

Since  Heaven,  what  praise  we  offer  to  his  name. 
Hath  render'd  too  authentic  by  its  choice. 

Though  in  his  praise  no  arts  can  liberal  be. 

Since  they,  whose  muses  have  the  highest  flown, 

Add  not  to  his  immortal  memory, 

But  do  an  act  of  friendship  to  their  own  : 

Yet  'tis  our  duty,  and  our  interest  too, 

Such  monuments  as  we  can  build  to  raise  ; 

Lest  all  the  world  prevent  what  we  should  do, 
And  claim  a  title  in  him  by  their  praise. 


THE  DEATH  OF  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

How  shall  I  then  begin,  or  where  conclude, 

To  draw  a  fame  so  truly  circular  ? 
For  in  a  round  what  order  can  be  show'd, 

Where  all  tii.  i^arts  so  equal  perfect  are  ? 

His  grandeur  he  derived  from  Heaven  alone ; 

I'or  he'  was  great,  ere  fortune  made  him  so  : 
And  wars,  Hke  mists  that  rise  against  the  sun, 

Made  him  but  greater  seem,  not  greater  grow. 

No  borrow'd  bays  his  temples  did  adorn, 
But  to  our  crown  he  did  fresh  jewels  bring  ; 

Nor  was  his  virtue  poison'd  soon  as  born. 
With  the  too  early  thoughts  of  being  king. 

Fortune — that  easy  mistress  to  the  young, 
But  to  her  ancient  servants  coy  and  hard — 

Him  at  that  age  her  favourites  rank'd  among, 
When  she  her  best-loved  Pompey  did  discard. 

He,  private,  mark'd  the  fault  of  others'  sway 
And  set  as  sea-marks  for  himself  to  shun  : 

Not  hke  rash  monarchs,  who  their  youth  betray 
By  acts  their  age  too  late  would  wish  undone. 

And  yet  dominion  was  not  his  design  ; 

We  owe  that  blessing,  not  to  him,  but  Heaven, 
Which  to  fair  acts  unsought  rewards  did  join  ; 

Rewards,  that  less  to  him  than  us  were  given. 

Our  former  chiefs,  like  sticklers  of  the  war, 

First  sought  to  inflame  the  parties,  then  to  poise: 

The  quarrel  loved,  but  did  the  cause  abhor  ; 
And  did  not  strike  to  hui-t,  but  make  a  noise. 

War,  our  consumption,  was  their  gainful  trade  : 
We  inward  bled,  whilst  they  prolong'd  our  pain ; 

He  fought  to  end  our  lighting,  and  essay'd 

To  staunch  the  blood  by  breathing  of  the  vein. 

Swift  and  resistless  through  the  land  he  past, 
Like  that  bold  Greek  who  did  the  East  subdue. 

And  made  to  battles  such  heroic  ha*e, 
As  if  on  wings  of  victory  he  flew.- 

He  fought  secure  of  fortune  as  of  fame  : 

Still,  by  new  maps,  the  island  might  be  shown, 

Of  conquests,  which  he  strew'd  where'er  he  came, 
Thick  as  the  galaxy  with  stars  is  sown. 
3 


6  THE  DEATH  OF  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

His  palms,  though  under  weights  they  did  not  stand, 
Still  thrived  ;  no  winter  could  his  laurels  fade  : 

Heaven  in  his  portrait  show'd  a  workman's  hand, 
And  drew  it  perfect,  yet  without  a  shade. 

Peace  was  the  prize  of  all  his  toil  and  care, 
Which  war  had  banish'd,  and  did  now  restore  : 

Bologna's  walls  thus  mounted  in  the  air, 
To  seat  themselves  more  surely  than  before. 

Her  safety,  rescued  Ireland  to  him  owes  ; 

And  treacherous  Scotland  to  no  interest  true, 
Yet  blest  that  fate  which  did  his  arms  dispose 

Her  land  to  civihse,  as  to  subdue. 

Nor  was  he  hke  those  stars  which  only  shine. 
When  to  pale  mariners  they  storms  portend : 

He  had  his  calmer  influence,  and  his  mien 
Did  love  and  majesty  together  blend. 

'Tis  true,  his  countenance  did  imprint  an  awe ; 

And  naturally  all  souls  to  his  did  bow. 
As  wands  of  divination  downward  draw. 

And  point  to  beds  where  sovereign  gold  doth  grow. 

When  past  all  offerings  to  Feretrian  Jove, 

He  Mars  deposed,  and  arms  to  gowns  made  yield ; 

Successful  councils  did  him  soon  approve 
As  fit  for  close  intrigues,  as  open  field. 

To  suppHant  HoUand  he  vouchsafed  a  peace, 
Our  once  bold  rival  of  the  British  main. 

Now  tamely  glad  her  unjust  claim  to  cease. 
And  buy  our  friendship  with  her  idol — ^gain. 

Fame  of  the  asserted  sea  through  Europe  blown, 
Made  France  and  Spain  ambitious  of  his  love ; 

Each  knew  that  side  must  conquer  he  would  own  ; 
And  for  him  fiercely,  as  for  empire,  strove. 

No  sooner  was  the  Frenchman's  cause  embraced. 
Than  the  lightMonsieur  the  grave  Don  outweigh'd : 

His  fortune  turn'd  the  scale  where'er  'twas  cast ; 
Though  Indian  mines  were  in  the  other  laid. 

When  absent,  yet  we  conquer'd  in  his  right : 

For  though  some  meaner  artist's  skiU  were  shown 

In  mingUng  colours,  or  in  placing  light ; 
Yet  still  the  fair  designment  was  his  own. 


Cromwell  in  Council. 


"  Successful  councils  did  him  soou  approve, 
As  fit  for  close  intrigues  as  open  field." 


p.  6. 


,THE  DEATH  OP.  OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

For  from  all  tempers  he  could  service  draw  ; 

The  worth  of  each,  with  its  alloy,  he  knew, 
And,  as  the  confident  of  Nature,  saw 

How  she  complexions  did  divide  and  brew. 

Or  he  their  single  virtues  did  survey, 

By  intuition,  in  his  own  large  breast, 
Where  all  the  rich  ideas  of  them  lay, 

That  were  the  rule  and  measure  to  the  rest. 

When  such  heroic  virtue  heaven  sets  out, 
The  stars,  like  commons,  sullenly  obey ; 

Because  it  drains  them  when  it  comes  about. 
And  therefore  is  a  tax  they  seldom  pay. 

From  this  high  spring  our  foreign  conquests  flow, 
Which  yet  more  glorious  triumphs  do  portend ; 

Since  their  commencement  to  his  arms  they  owe. 
If  springs  as  high  as  fountains  may  ascend. 

He  made  us  free-men  of  the  continent. 

Whom  Nature  did  like  captives  treat  before  ; 
To  nobler  preys  the  English  lion  sent, 
*  And  taught  him  first  in  Belgian  walks  to  roar. 

That  old  unquestioned  pirate  of  the  land. 

Proud  Rome,  with  dread  the  fate  of  Dunkirk  heard  ,* 

And  trembUng  wish'd  behind  more  Alps  to  stand, 
Although  an  Alexander  were  her  guard. 

By  his  command  we  boldly  crossed  the  line, 

And  bravely  fought  where  southern  stars  arise  ; 

We  traced  the  far-fetch'd  gold  unto  the  mine, 

And  that  which  bribed  our  fathers  made  our  prize. 

Such  was  our  prince  ;  yet  own'd  a  soul  above 
The  highest  acts  it  could  produce  to  show  ; 

Tims  poor  mechanic  arts  in  public  move. 
Whilst  the  deep  secrets  beyond  practice  go. 

Nor  died  he  when  his  ebbing  fame  went  less. 
But  when  fresh  laurels  courted  him  to  live  : 

He  seem'd  but  to  prevent  some  new  success, 
As  if  above  what  triumphs  earth  could  give. 

His  latest  victories  still  thickest  came. 
As  near  the  centre,  motion  doth  increase  ; 

Till  he,  press'd  down  by  his  own  weighty  name, 
Did,  like  the  vestal,  under  spoils  decease. 


*  ASTRiEA  REDUX. 

But  first  the  ocean  as  a  tribute  sent 

The  giant  prince  of  all  her  watery  herd  ; 

And  the  isle,  when  her  protecting  genius  went, 
Upon  his  obsequies  loud  sighs  conferr'd. 

No  civil  broils  have  since  his  death  arose, 
But  faction  now  by  habit  does  obey  ; 

And  wars  have  that  respect  for  his  repose, 
As  winds  for  halcyons  when  they  breed  at  sea. 

His  ashes  in  a  peaceful  urn  shall  rest, 

His  name  a  great  example  stands,  to  show 

How  strangely  high  endeavours  may  be  blest, 
Where  piety  and  valour  jointly. go. 


ASTEJEA  REDUX. 

A   POEM   ON  THE   HAPPY    RESTORATION  AND   RETURN  OF  HIS 
SACRED   MAJESTY   CHARLES   II.      1660. 

Now  with  a  general  peace  the  world  was  blest, 

While  ours,  a  world  divided  from  the  rest, 

A  dreadful  quiet  felt,  and  worser  far 
J'han  arms,  a  sullen  interval  of  war  : 
/  Thus  when  black  clouds  draw  down  the  labouring  skies, 
I   Ere  yet  abroad  the  winged  thunder  flies, 
\   An  horrid  stillness  first  invades  the  ear, 
L-And  in  that  silence  we  the  tempest  fear. 

The  ambitious  Swede,  like  restless  billows  toss'd. 

On  this  hand  gaining  what  on  that  he  lost,  •  ^ 

Though  in  his  life  he  blood  and  ruin  breathed, 

To  his  now  guideless  kingdom  peace  bequeath'd. 

And  Heaven,  that  seem'd  regardless  of  our  fate. 

For  France  and  Spain  did  mira^cles  create ; 
^^Such  mortal  quarrels  to  compose  in  peace, 
'^  As  nature  bred,  and  interest  did  increase. 

We  sigh'd  to  hear  the  fair  Iberian  bride 

^ust  grow  a  lily  to  the  lily's  side, 
y*  Whilst  our  cross  stars  denied  us  Charles's  bed, 
^Whom  our  first  flames  and  virginlove~clid  wed. 

For  his  long  absence  Church  and  State  did  groan ; 

Madness  the  pulpit,  faction  seized  the  throne : 

Experienced  age  in  deep  despair  was  lost. 

To  see  the  rebel  thrive,  the  loyal  cross'd  .* 


ASTEiEA  REDUX. 

ry    it) 
Youtli,  that  with  joys  had  unacquainted  been^^    ^"' 
Envied  gray  hairs  that  once  good  days  had  seen  : 
We  thought  our  sires,  not  with  their  own  content, 
Had,  ere  we  came  to  age,  our  portion  spent. 
Nor  could  our  nobles  hope  their  bold  attempt, 
Who  ruin'd  crowns  would  coronets  exempt.  t^V 
For  when,  by  their  designing  leaders  taught  '  ^ 
To  strike  at  power  which  for  themselves  they  sought, 
The  vulgar,  gull'd  into  rebellion,  arm'd  ; 
Their  blood  to  action  by  the  prize  was  warm'd. 
The  sacred  purple  then  and  scarlet  gown, 

CLike  sanguine  dye,  to  elephants  was  shown. 
Thus,  when  the  bold  Typhoons  scaled  the  sky, 
And  forced  great  Jove  from  his  own  heaven  to  fly, 
(What  king,  -what  crown  from  treason^ reach  is  free. 
If  Jove  and  Heaven  can  violated  be  1mSl\0 
The  lesser  gods,  that  shared  his  prosperous  state. 
All  sufFer'd  in  the  exiled  Thunderer's  fate  j 
The  rabble  now  such  freedom  did  enjoy, 
As  winds  at  sea,  that  use  it  to  destroy : 
Blind  as  the  Cyclop,  and  as  wild  as  he, 
They  own'd  a  lawless  savage  liberty, 
Like  that  our  painted  ancestors  so  prized, 
Ere  empire's  arts  their  breasts  had  civilised. 
How  great  were  then  our  Charles's  woes,  who  thuri 
Was  forced  to  suffer  for  ffinself  and  us  !    Jj*^ 
He,  toss'd  by  fate,  and  hurried  up  and  down. 
Heir  to  his  father's  sorrows,  with  his  crown. 
Could  taste  no  sweets  of  youth's  desired  age  ; 
Bat  found  his  life  too  true  a  pilgrimage. 
Unconquered  yet  in  that  forlorn  estate. 
His  manly  courage  overcame  his  fate. 
His  wounds  he  took,  like  Romans,  on  his  breast. 
Which,  by  his  virtue,  were  with  laurels  dress'd. 
As  souls  reach  heaven  while  yet  in  bodies  pent^ 
So  did  he  hve  above  his  banishment.,  J^-C.^'d^ 


xTiat  sun,  which  we  beheld  with  cozro^eyes 
Within  the  water,  moved  along  the  slcies. 
'■  How  easy  'tis,  when  destiny  proves  kind, 
With  full-spread  sails  to  run  before  the  wind ! 
Bat  those  that  'gainst  stiff  gales  laveering  go. 
Must  be  at  once  resolved,  and  skilful  too: 
He  would  not,  like  soft  Otho,  hope  prevent, 
But  stay'd  and  suffer'd  fortune  to  repent. 
3* 


10 


ASTR^A    REDUX. 


0 


These  virtues  Galba  in  a  stranger  sought, 
And  Piso  to  adopted  empire  brought. 
How  shall  I  then  my  doubtful  thoughts  express, 
That  must  his  sufferings  both  regret  and  bless  1 
For  when  his  early  valour  Heaven  had  cross'd ; 
And  all  at  Worcester  but  the  honour  lost ; 
Forced  into  exile  from  his  rightful  throne, 
He  made  all  countries  where  he  came  his  own ; 
And,  viewing  monarchs'  secret  arts  of  sway, 
;^A  royal  factor  for  his  kingdoms  lay. 
i  Thus  banish'd  David  spent  abroad  his  time. 
When  to  be  God's  anointed  was  his  crime  ;  | 
And,  when  restored,  made  his  proud  neighbours  rue 
Those  choice  remarks  he  from  his  travels  drew. 
Nor  is  he  only  by  affliction  shown 
To  conquer  others'  realms,  but  rule  his  own : 
Kecovering  hardly  what  he  lost  before. 
His  right  endears  it  much  ;  his  purchase  more. 
Inured  to  suffer  ere  he  came  to  reign. 
No  rash  procedure  will  his  actions  stain  : 
'To  business  ripen'd  by  digestive  thought,     ,, 
His  future  rule  is  into  method  brought :   1  '- 
As  they  who  first  proportion  understand, 
With  easy  practice  reach  a  master's  hand. 
Well  might  the  ancient  poets  then  confer 
On  Night  the  honour'd  name  of  Counsellor, 
Since  struck  with  rays  of  prosperous  fortune  blind, 
We  light  alone  in  dark  afflictions  find. 
In  such  adversities  to  sceptres  train'd, 
The  name  of  Great  his  famous  grandsire  gain'd ; 
Who  yet  a  king  alone  in  name  and  right, 
With  hunger,  cold,  atid  angry  Jove  did  fight ; 
Shock'd  by  a  Covenanting  League's  vast  powers, 
As  holy  and  as  catholic  as  ours  : 
Till  fortune's  fruitless  spite  had  made  it  known, 
Her  blows  not  shook  but  riveted  his  throne. 

Some  lazy  ages,  lost  in  sleep  and  ease, 
No  action  leave  to  busy  chronicles  : 
Such,  whose  supine  felicity  but  makes 
In  story  chasms,  in  epocha  mistakes  ; 
O'er  whom  Time  gently  shakes  his  wings  of  dows^ 
Till  with  his  silent  sickle  they  are  mown.    ^  ^  ' 
Such  is  not  Charles's  too  too  active  age, 
Which,  govern^  by  the  wild  distemper'd  rage 


ASTRiEA  REDUX.  11 

Of  some  black  star  infecting  all  the  skies, 

Made  him  at  his  own  cost  hke  Adam  wise. 
V^remble,  ye  nations,  who  secure  before, 

Laugh'd  at  those  arms  that  'gainst  ourselves  we  bore ; 

Roused  by  the  lash  of  his  own  stubborn  tail. 

Our  lion  now  will  foreign  foes  assail. 

With  alga  who  the  sacred  altar  strews  ? 

To  all  the  sea-gods  Charles  an  offering  owes  : 

A  bull  to  thee,  Portunus,  shall  be  slain  ; 

A  lamb  to  you,  ye  tempests  of  the  main : 

For  those  loud  storms  that  did  aggiipst  hJJILrggjjL  ^       ^ 

li'ave'"cajlt  liibi  "ship  Wreck^'tl" vessel  onjblie  shore.— — -^ 
-*T!!f  tl9  Wise  aHiSts  liflx  their  colour  so. 

That  by  degrees  they  from  each  other  go  : 

Black  steals  unheeded  from  th^  neijghb'ring  white, 
^J^thout  offending  the  well-cozeti'a  sight : 

So  on  us  stole  our  blessed  change  ;  while  we 

The  effect  did  feel,  but  scarce  the  manner  see. 
(Frosts  that  constrain  the  ground,  and  birth  deny 

To  flowers  that  in  its  womb  expecting  lie. 

Do  seldom  their  usurping  power  withdraw, 

But  raging  floods  pursue  their  hasty  thaw. 

Our  thaw  was  mild,  the  cold  not  chased  ^way. 

But  lost  in  kindly  heat  of  lengthened  day.  \ 

Heaven  would  no  bargain  for  its  blessings  drive. 

But  what  we  could  not  pay  for,  freely  give. 

The  Prince  of  Peace  would  like  himself  confer 

A  gift  unhoped,  without  the  price  of  war :  ^  '*■  ■    __ 


ii'at  we  should  know  it  by  reprn,tnriipT-HiTn'T'^ 
'\¥feich  stormd ilie skies, and ravish'd  Charles  from  thence, 
As  heaven  itself  is"  took  by  violence. 
Booth's  forward  valour  only  served  to  show, 
He  durst  that  duty  pay  we  aU  did  owe  : 
The  attempt  was  fair  ;  but  heaven's  prefix'd  hour 
Not  come  :  so  like  the  watchful  traveller 
That  by  the  moon's  mistaken  light  did  rise, 
Lay  down  again,  and  closed  his  weary  eyes. 
'Twas  Monk,  whom  Providence  design'd  to  loose 
Those  real  bonds  false  freedom  did  impose. 
The  blessed  saints  that  watch'd  this  turning  scene, 
Did  from  their  stars  with  joyful  wonder  lean, 
To  see  small  clues  draw  vastest  weights  along, 
Not  in  their  bulk  but  in  their  order  strong      ^ 


12  ASTRiEA   REDUX. 

Thus  pencils  can  by  one  slight  touch  restore 

Smiles  to  that  changed  face  that  wei3t  before. 

With  ease  such  fond  chimsera  we  pursue, 

As  fancy  frames  for  fancy  to  subdue  :     "1 

But  when  ourselves  to  action  we  betake, 

It  shuns  the  mint  like  gold  that  chemists  make. 

How  hard  was  then  his  task!  at  once  to  be 

What  in  the  body  natural  we  see! 

Man's  architect  distinctly  did  ordain 

The  charge  of  muscles,  nerves,  and  of  the  brain, 

Through  viewless  conduits  spirits  to  dispense  ;| 

The  springs  of  motion  from  the  seat  of  sense. 

'Twfis  r^ot  the  hasty  product  of  a  dav.    ^ 

But^fc|][g^vell-rip6ti  d  iruit  of  wi>e  j;.day!-l.l^ 

Would  let  him  play  a  while  upon  the  hook. 

Our  healthful  food  the  stomach  labours  thus, 

At  first  embracing  what  it  straight  doth  crush. 

Wise  leeches  will  not  vain  receipts  obtrude, 

While  growing  pains  pronounce  the  humours  crude : 

Deaf  to  complaints  they  wait  upon  the  ill. 

Till  some  safe  crisis  authorise  their  skill. 

Nor  could  his  acts  too  close  a  vizor  wear,  ^  ^ 

To  'scape  their  eyes  whom  guilt  had  taught  to  fear,  l  i^  ''^ 

And  guard  with  caution  that  polluted  nest, 

Whence  Legion  twice  before  was  dispossess'd  : 

Once  sacred  house  ;— which  when  they  enter'd  in, 

They  thought  the  place  could  sanctify  a  sin  ; 

Like  those  that  vainly  hoped  kind  Heaven  would  wink. 

While  to  excess  on  martyrs'  tombs  they  drink. 

And  as  devouter  Turks  hrst  warn  their  souls 

To  part,  before  they  taste  forbidden  bowls  : 

So  these,  when  their  black  crimes  they  went  about, 

First  timely  charm'd  their  useless  conscience  out.  '    ^ 

Keligion's  name  against  itself  was  made  ; 

The  shadow  served  the  substance  to  invade : 

Like  zealous  missions,  they  did  care  pretend 

Of  souls  in  show,  but  made  the  gold  their  end. 

Th'  incensed  powers  beheld  with  scorn  from  high 

An  heaven  so  far  distant  from  the  sky. 

Which  durst,  w^ith  horses'  hoofs  that  beat  the  ground, 

And  martial  brass,  belie  the  thunder's  sound. 

'Twas  hence  at  length  just  vengeance  thought  it  fit 

To  speed  their  ruin  by  their  impious  wit.    >. '^  j 


ASTR.EA   REDUX.  13 

Thus  Sforza,  cursed  with  a  too  fertile  brain, 
Lost  by  his  wiles  the  power  his  wit  did  gain. 
Henceforth  their  rage  must  spend  at  lesser  rate, 
Than  in  its  flames  to  wrap  a  nation's  fate. 
Suffer'd  to  Hve,  they  are  like  Helots  set, 
A  virtuous  shame  within  us  to  beget. 
For  by  example  most  we  sinn'd  before, 
And  glass-Hke  clearness  mix'd  with  frailty  bore, 
""ut  since  reform'd  by  what  we  did  amiss, 

'e  by  our  sufferings  learn  to  prize  our  bliss  :  )-  •  <^ 

ike  early  lovers,  whose  unpractised  hearts 
Were  long  the  may-game  of  malicious  arts. 
When  once  they  find  their  jealousies  were  vain,  P 
With  double  heat  renew  their  fires  again.S 
'Twas  this  produced  the  joy  that  hurried  o'er 
Such  swarms  of  English  to  the  neighb'ring  shore, 
To  fetch  that  prize,  by  which  Batavia  made 
So  rich  amends  for  our  impoverish'd  trade. 
Oh  had  you  seen  from  Schevelin's  barren  shore, 
(Crowded  with  troops,  and  barren  now  no  more,) 
Afflicted  HoUand  to  his  farewell  bring 
True  sorrow,  Holland  to  regret  a  king  ! 
While  waiting  him  his  royal  fleet  did  ride, 
And  willing  winds  to  their  lowered  sails  denied. 
The  wavering  streamers,  flags,  and  standards  out, 
The  merry  seamen's  rude  but  cheerful  shout ; 
And  last  the  cannons'  voice  that  shook  the  skies, 
And,  as  it  fares  in  sudden  ecstasies. 
At  once  bereft  us  both  of  ears  and  eyes. 
The  Naseby,  now  no  longer  England's  shame,  ^*.* ' 
But  better  to  be  lost  in  Charles's  name, 
(Like  some  unequal  bride  in  nobler  sheets) 
Receives  her  lord  :  the  joyful  London  meets 
The  princely  York,  himself  alone  a  freight ; 
The  Swiftsure  groans  beneath  great  Gloster's  weight : 
Secure  as  when  the  halcyon  breeds,  with  these. 
He  that  was  born  to  drown  might  cross  the  seas. 
Heaven  could  not  own  a  Providence,  and  take 
The  wealth  three  nations  ventured  at  a  stake.  q 

The  same  indulgence  Charles's  voyage  bless'd,  >  '^ 
Which  in  his  right  had  miracles  confess'd. 
The  winds  that  never  moderation  knew, 
Afraid  to  blow  too  much,  too  faintly  blew : 


14  ASTRiEA   REDUX. 

Or,  out  of  breath  with  joy,  could  not  enlarge 
Their  straiten'd  lungs,  or  conscious  of  their  charge. 
The  British  Amphitrite,  smooth  and  clear, 
In  richer  azure  never  did  appear  ; 
Proud  her  returning  Prince  to  entertain 
With  the  submitted  fasces  of  the  main. 

And  welcome  now,  great  monarch,  to  your  own ; ,    >  *«*' 

Behold  th'  approaching  cliffs  of  Albion  : 

It  is  no  longer  motion  cheats  your  view, 

^  s  you  meet  it,  the  land  approacheth  you. 

The  land  returns,  and,  in  the  white  it  wears, 

The  marks  of  penitence  and  sorrow  bears. 

But  you,  whose  goodness  your  descent  doth  show. 

Your  heavenly  parentage  and  earthly  too  ; 

By  that  same  mildness,  which  your  father's  crown 

Before  did  ravish,  shall  secure  your  own.    ^^ 

Not  tied  to  rules  of  pohcy,  you  find,      'X^^ 

.  Revenge  less  sweet  than  a  forgiving  mind. 

'  Thus,  when  the  Almighty  would  to  Moses  give 

'  A  sight  of  aU  he  could  behold  and  live  ; 
A  voice  before  his  entry  did  proclaim 
Long-suflfering,  goodness,  mercy,  in  his  name.*] 
Your  power  to  justice  doth  submit  your  cause, 
Your  goodness  only  is  above  the  laws  ; 
Whose  rigid  letter,  while  pronounced  by  you. 
Is  softer  made.     So  winds  that  tempests  brew. 
When  through  Arabian  groves  they  take  their  flighty  "-^-^ ^ 
Made  wanton  with  rich  odours,  lose  their  spite. 
And  as  those  lees,  that  trouble  it,  refine 
The  agitated  soul  of  generous  wine  : 
So  tears  of  joy,  for  your  returning,  spilt. 
Work  out,  and  expiate  our  former  guilt. 
Methinks  I  see  those  crowds  on  Dover's  strand. 
Who,  in  their  haste  to  welcome  you  to  land. 
Choked  up  the  beach  with  their  still  growing  store. 
And  made  a  wilder  torrent-on  the  shore  :  ^ 

While,  spurr'd  with  eager  thoughts  of  past  dehght,  ^^ 
Those,  who  had  seen  you,  court  a  second  sight ; 
Preventing  still  your  steps,  and  making  haste 
To  meet  you  often,  wheresoe'er  you  pass'd. 
How  shall  I  speak  of  that  triumphant  day. 
When  you  renew'd  th'  expiring  pomp  of  May  ! 


ASTRiEA  REDUX.  15 

(A  month,  that  owns  an  interest  in  your  name  : 
.,  You  and  the  flowers  are  its  peculiar  claim.) 
\  That  star,  that  at  your  birth  shone  out  so  bright, 
^  It  stain'd  the  duller  sun's  meridian  light, 

Did  once  again  its  potent  fires  renew,  , 

Guiding  our  eyes  to  find  and  worship  you.) 
And  now  Time's  whiter  series  is  begun, 

Which  in  soft  centuries  shall  smoothly  run : 

Those  clouds,  that  overcast  your  morn,  shall  fly, 

DispeU'd  to  farthest  comers  of  the  sky. 

Our  nation  with  united  interest  blest, 

Not  now  content  to  poize,  shall  sway  the  rest. 

Abroad  your  empire  shall  no  limits  know. 

But,  like  the  sea,  in  boundless  circles  flow. 

Your  much-loved  fleet  shall,  with  a  wide  command. 

Besiege  the  petty  monarchs  of  the  land  : 

And  as  old  Time  his  ofispring  swallow'd  down. 

Our  ocean  in  its  depths  all  seas  shaU  drown. 

Their  wealthy  trade  from  pirates'  rapine  free. 

Our  merchants  shall  no  more  adventurers  be  : 

Nor  in  the  farthest  east  those  dangers  fear. 

Which  humble  HoUand  must  dissemble  here. 

Spain  to  your  gift  alone  her  Indies  owes  ; 

For  what  the  powerful  takes  not,  he  bestows  ; 

And  France,  that  did  an  exile's  presence  fear,  j>\  O 

May  justly  appreh  tnd  you  stiU  too  near. 

At  home  the  hateful  names  of  parties  cease. 

And  factious  souls  are  wearied  into  peace. 

The  discontented  now  are  only  they. 

Whose  crimes  before  did  your  just  cause  betray : 

Of  those  your  edicts  some  reclaim  from  sin, 

But  most  your  life  and  blest  example  win. 

Oh  happy  prince,  whom  Heaven  hath  taught  the  "way 

By  paying  vows  to  have  more  vows  to  pay ! 

Oh  happy  age !     Oh  times  Hke  those  alone. 

By  fate  reserved  for  great  Augustus'  throne  ! 

When  the  joint  growth  of  arms  and  art  foreshow 

The  world  a  monarch,  and  that  monarch  you. 


16 
TO  HIS  SACRED  MAJESTY  CHARLES  THE  SECOND. 

A  PANEGYRIC  ON  HIS  CORONATION. 

In  that  wild  deluge  where  the  world  was  drown'd, 
When  life  and  sin  one  common  tomb  had  found, 
The  first  small  prospect  of  a  rising  hill 
With  various  notes  of  joy  the  ark  did  fill : 
Yet  when  that  flood  in  its  own  depths  was  drown'd, 
It  left  behind  it  false  and  slippery  ground  ; 
And  the  more  solemn  pomp  was  still  deferred, 
Till  new-born  nature  in  fresh  looks  appeared. 
Thus,  royal  sir,  to  see  you  landed  here. 
Was  cause  enough  of  triumph  for  a  year  : 
Nor  would  your  care  those  glorious  joys  repeat, 
TiU  they  at  once  might  be  secure  and  great : 
Till  your  kind  beams,  by  their  continued  stay. 
Had  warm'd  the  ground,  and  call'd  the  damps  away. 
Such  vapours,  while  your  powerful  influence  dries, 
Then  soonest  vanish  when  they  highest  rise. 
Had  greater  haste  these  sacred  rites  prepared. 
Some  guilty  months  had  in  your  triumphs  shared  : 
But  this  untainted  year  is  all  your  own  ; 
Your  glories  may  without  our  crimes  be  shown. 
We  had  not  yet  exhausted  all  our  store. 
When  you  refresh'd  our  joys  by  adding  more  : 
As  heaven,  of  old,  dispensed  celestial  dew, 
You  gave  us  manna,  and  still  give  us  new. 

Now  our  sad  ruins  are  removed  from  sight. 
The  season  too  comes  fraught  with  new  delight : 
Time  seems  not  now  beneath  his  years  to  stoop, 
Nor  do  his  wings  with  sickly  feathers  droop  : 
Soft  western  winds  waft  o'er  the  gaudy  spring, 
And  open'd  scenes  of  flowers  and  blossoms  bring, 
To  grace  this  happy  day,  while  you  appear, 
Not  king  of  us  alone,  but  of  the  year. 
All  eyes  you  draw,  and  with  the  eyes  the  heart : 
Of  your  own  pomp  yourself  the  greatest  part : 
Loud  shouts  the  nation's  happiness  proclaim, 
And  heaven  this  day  is  feasted  with  your  name. 
Your  cavalcade  the  fair  spectators  view. 
From  their  high  standings,  yet  look  up  to  you. 
From  your  brave  train  each  singles  out  a  prey, 
And  longs  to  date  a  conquest  from  your  d^y. 


TO   CHARLES  THE  SECOND.  17 

Now  charged  with  blessings  while  you  seek  reppse, 

Officious  slumbers  haste  your  eyes  to  close  ; 

And  glorious  dreams  stand  ready  to  restore 

The  pleasing  shapes  of  all  you  saw  before. 

Next  to  the  sacred  temple  you  are  led, 

Where  waits  a  crown  for  your  more  sacred  head  : 

How  justly  from  the  Church  that  crown  is  due, 

Preserved  from  ruin,  and  restored  by  you  ! 

The  grate.«al  choir  their  harmony  employ, 

Not  to  make  greater,  but  more  solemn  joy. 

Wrapt  soft  and  warm  your  name  is  sent  on  high, 

As  flames  do  on  the  wings  of  incense  fly  : 

Music  herself  is  lost,  in  vain  she  brings 

Her  choicest  notes  to  praise  the  best  of  kings : 

Her  melting  strains  in  you  a  tomb  have  found, 

And  He  like  bees  in  their  own  sweetness  drown'd. 

He  that  brought  peace,  all  discord  could  atone, 

His  name  is  music  of  itself  alone. 

Now,  while  the  sacred  oil  anoints  your  head, 

And  fragrant  scents,  begun  from  you,  are  spread 

Through  the  large  dome  ;  the  people's  joyful  sound, 

Sent  back,  is  still  preserved  in  hallo w'd  ground ; 

Which,  in  one  blessing  mix'd,  descends  on  you ; 

As  heightened  spirits  fall  in  richer  dew. 

Not  that  our  wishes  do  increase  your  store, 

Full  of  yourself,  you  can  admit  no  more ; 

We  add  not  to  your  glory,  but  employ 

Oar  time,  like  angels,  in  expressing  joy. 

Nor  is  it  duty,  or  our  hopes  alone, 

Create  that  joy,  but  full  fruition : 

We  know  those  blessings,  which  we  must  possess. 

And  judge  of  future  by  past  happiness. 

No  promise  can  oblige  a  prince  so  much 

Still  to  be  good,  as  long  to  have  been  such. 

A  noble  emulation  heats  your  breast, 

And  your  own  fame  now  robs  you  of  your  rest. 

Good  actions  still  must  be  maintain'd  with  good, ; 

As  bodies  nourish'd  with  resembling  food. 

You  have  already  quench'd  sedition's  brand ; 

And  zeal,  which  burnt  it,  only  warms  the  land. 

The  jealous  sects,  that  dare  not  trust  their  cause, 

So  far  from  their  own  will  as  to  the  laws, 

You  for  their  umpire  and  tjieir  synod  take. 

And  their  appeal  alone  to  (Jsesar  make. 


18  TO  CHARLES  THE  SECOIO). 

Kind  Heaven  so  rare  a  temper  did  provide, 

•That  guilt,  repenting,  might  in  it  confide. 

Among  our  crimes  oblivion  may  be  set ; 

But  'tis  our  king's  perfection  to  forget. 

Virtues  unknown  to  these  rough  northern  climes 

From  milder  heavens  you  bring  without  their  crimes. 

Your  calmness  does  no  after-storms  provide, 

Nor  seeming  patience  mortal  anger  hide. 

When  empire  first  from  families  did  spring. 

Then  every  father  govem'd  as  a  king : 

But  you,  that  are  a  sovereign  prince,  allay 

Imperial  power  with  your  paternal  sway. 

From  those  great  cares  when  ease  your  soul  unbends, 

Your  pleasures  are  design 'd  to  noble  ends : 

Born  to  command  the  mistress  of  the  seas, 

Your  thoughts  themselves  in  that  blue  empire  please. 

Hither  in  summer  evenings  you  repair 

To  taste  the  fraicheur  of  the  purer  air : 

Undaunted  here  you  ride,  when  winter  raves, 

With  Caesar's  heart  that  rose  above  the  waves. 

More  I  could  sing,  but  fear  my  numbers  stays ; 

No  loyal  subject  dares  that  courage  praise. 

In  stately  frigates  most  delight  you  find, 

Where  well-drawn  battles  fire  your  martial  mind. 

What  to  your  cares  we  owe,  is  learnt  from  hence, 

When  even  your  pleasures  serve  for  our  defence. 

Beyond  your  court  flows  in  th'  admitted  tide. 

Where  in  new  depths  the  wondering  fishes  glide : 

Here  in  a  royal  bed  the  waters  sleep  ; 

When,  tired  at  sea,  within  this  bay  they  creep. 

Here  the  mistrustful  fowl  no  harm  suspects. 

So  safe  are  all  things  which  our  king  protects. 

From  your  loved  Thames  a  blessing  yet  is  due, 

Second  alone  to  that  it  brought  in  you  ; 

A  queen,  near  whose  chaste  womb,  ordain'd  by  fate, 

The  souls  of  kings  unborn  for  bodies  wait. 

It  was  your  love  before  made  discord  cease  : 

Your  love  is  destined  to  your  country's  peace. 

Both  Indies,  rivals  in  your  bed,  provide 

With  gold  or  jewels  to  adorn  your  bride. 

This  to  a  mighty  king  presents  rich  ore. 

While  that  with  incense  does  a  god  implore. 

Two  kingdoms  wait  your  doom,  and,  as  you  choose, 

This  must  receive  a  crown,  or  that  must  lose. 


TO  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  HYDE.         19 

Thus,  from  your  royal  oak,  like  Jove's  of  old, 
Are  answers  sought,  and  destinies  foretold  : 
Propitious  oracles  are  begg'd  with  vows, 
And  crowns  that  grow  upon  the  sacred  boughs. 
Your  subjects,  while  you  weigh  the  nation's  fate, 
Suspend  to  both  their  doubtful  love  or  hate ; 
Choose  only,  sir,  that  so  they  may  possess. 
With  their  own  peace  their  children's  happiness. 


TO  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  EDWARD  HYDE, 
EARL  OF  CLARENDON. 

PRESENTED  ON  NEW  YEAR'S  DAY,   1662. 

My  Lord, 
While  flattering  crowds  officiously  appear. 
To  give  themselves,  not  you,  an  happy  year ; 
And  by  the  greatness  of  their  presents  prove 
How  much  they  hope,  but  not  how  well  they  love  ; 
The  Muses,  who  your  early  courtship  boast, 
Though  now  your  flames  are  with  their  beauty  lost, 
Yet  watch  their  time,  that,  if  you  have  forgot 
They  were  your  mistresses,  the  world  may  not : 
Decay'd  by  time  and  wars,  they  only  prove 
Their  former  beauty  by  your  former  love  ; 
And  now  present,  as  ancient  ladies  do, 
That,  courted  long,  at  length  are  forced  to  woo. 
For  still  they  look  on  ;5»u  with  such  kind  eyes. 
As  those  that  see  the  Church's  sovereign  rise  ; 
From  their  own  order  chose,  in  whose  high  state, 
They  think  themselves  the  second  choice  of  fate. 
When  our  great  monarch  into  exile  went,     #        ^' 
Wit  and  religion  sufler'd  banishment.  t-^^'"'^ 

Thus  once,  when  Troy  was  wrapp'd  in  fire  and  smoka, 
The  helpless  gods  their  burning  shrines  forsook  ; 
They  with  the  vanquish'd  prince  and  party  go. 
And  leave  their  temples  empty  to  the  foe. 
Ml  length  the  Muses  stand,  restored  again 
To  that  great  charge  which  nature  did  ordain ; 
And  their  loved  Druids  seem  revived  by  fate. 
While  you  dispense  the  laws,  and  guide  the  state. 


20  TO  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  HYDE. 

The  nation's  soul,  our  monarch,  does  dispense, 
Through  you,  to  us  his  vital  influence ; 
You  are  the  channel,  where  those  spirits  flow, 
And  work  them  higher,  as  to  us  they  go. 

In  open  prospect  nothing  bounds  our  eye, 
Until  the  earth  seems  join'd  unto  the  sky  : 
So  in  this  hemisphere  our  utmost  view 
Is  only  bounded  by  our  king  and  you  : 
Our  sight  is  limited  where  you  are  join'd, 
And  beyond  that  no  farther  heaven  can  find. 
So  well  your  virtues  do  with  his  agree, 
That,  though  your  orbs  of  different  greatness  be, 
Yet  both  are  for  each  other's  use  disposed. 
His  to  inclose,  and  yours  to  be  inclosed. 
Nor  could  another  in  your  room  have  been. 
Except  an  emptiness  had  come  between. 
Well  may  he  then  to  you  his  cares  impart. 
And  share  his  burden  where  he  shares  his  heart. 
In  you  his  sleep  stiU  wakes  ;  his  pleasures  find 
Their  share  of  business  in  your  labouring  mind. 
So  when  the  weary  sun  his  place  resigns, 
He  leaves  his  light,  and  by  reflection  shines. 

Justice,  that  sits  and  frowns  where  public  laws 
Exclude  soft  mercy  from  a  private  cause, 
In  your  tribunal  most  herself  does  please  ; 
There  only  smiles  because  she  lives  at  ease  ; 
And,  like  young  David,  finds  her  strength  the  more, 
When  disencumber'd  from  those  arms  she  wore. 
Heaven  would  our  royal  master  should  exceed 
Most  in  that  virtue,  which  we  most  did  need ; 
And  his  mild  father  (who  too  late*did  find 
All  mercy  vain  but  what  with  power  was  join'd) 
His  fatal  goodness  left  to  fitter  times, 
Not  to  increase,  but  to  absolve,  our  crimes : 
But  when  the  heir  of  this  vast  treasure  knew 
How  large  a  legacy  was  left  to  you, 
(Too  great  for  any  subject  to  retain) 
He  wisely  tied  it  to  the  crown  again : 
Yet,  passing  through  your  hands,  it  gathers  more. 
As  streams,  through  mines,  bear  tincture  of  their  ore. 
While  empiric  poUticians  use  deceit, 
Hide  what  they  give,  and  cure  but  by  a  cheat ; 
You  boldly  show  that  skill  which  they  pretend, 
And  work  by  means  as  noble  as  your  end ; 


TO  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  HYDE.  2) 

Which  should  you  veil,  we  might  unwind  the  clue, 

As  men  do  nature,  till  we  came  to  you. 

And  as  the  Indies  were  not  found,  before 

Those  rich  perfumes,  which,  from  the  happy  shore, 

The  winds  upon  their  balmy  wings  convey'd, 

Whose  guilty  sweetness  first  their  world  betrayed ; 

So  by  your  counsels  we  are  brought  to  view 

A  rich  and  undiscovered  world  in  you. 

By  you  our  monarch  does  that  fame  assure, 

Which  kings  must  have,  or  cannot  live  secure : 

For  prosperous  princes  gain  their  subjects'  heart, 

Who  love  that  praise  in  which  themselves  have  part. 

By  you  he  fits  those  subjects  to  obey. 

As  heaven's  eternal  monarch  does  convey 

His  power  unseen,  and  man,  to  his  designs 

By  his  bright  ministers  the  stars,  inclines. 

Our  setting  sun,  from  his  declining  seat, 
Shot  beams  of  kindness  on  you,  not  of  heat : 
And,  when  his  love  was  bounded  in  a  few, 
That  were  unhappy  that  they  might  be  true, 
Made  you  the  favourite  of  his  last  sad  times, 
That  is  a  sufferer  in  his  subjects'  crimes  : 
Thus  those  first  favours  you  received,  were  sent. 
Like  heaven's  rewards  in  earthly  punishment. 
Yet  fortune,  conscious  of  your  destiny. 
E'en  then  took  care  to  lay  you  softly  by ; 
And  wrapp'd  your  fate  among  her  precious  things. 
Kept  fresh  to  be  unfolded  with  your  king's. 
Shown  all  at  once  you  dazzled  so  our  eyes. 
As  new-born  Pallas  did  the  gods  surprise :    _  ) 

When,  springing  forth  from  Jove's  new  closing  wound,   ) 
She  struck  the  warlike  spear  into  the  ground  ; 
Which  sprouting  leaves  did  suddenly  inclose, 
And  peaceful  olives  shaded  as  they  rose. 

How  strangely  active  are  the  arts  of  peace. 
Whose  restless  motions  less  than  wars  do  cease ! 
Peace  is  not  freed  from  labour  but  from  noise  ; 
And  war  more  force,  but  not  more  pains  employs : 
Such  is  the  mighty  swiftness  of  your  mind, 
That,  like  the  earth,  it  leaves  our  sense  behind. 
While  you  so  smoothly  turn  and  roll  our  sphere, 
That  rapid  motion  does  but  rest  appear. 
For,  as  in  nature's  swiftness,  with  the  thr.ong 
Of  flying  orbs  while  ours  is  borne  along. 


22  TO  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR  HYDH. 

All  seems  at  rest  to  the  deluded  eye, 

Moved  by  the  soul  of  the  same  harmony, 

So,  carried  on  by  your  unwearied  care. 

We  rest  in  peace  and  yet  in  motion  share. 

Let  envy  then  those  crimes  within  you  see, 

From  which  the  happy  never  must  be  free  ; 

Envy,  that  does  with  misery  reside. 

The  joy  and  the  revenge  of  ruin'd  pride. 

Think  it  not  hard,  if  at  so  cheap  a  rate 

You  can  secure  the  constancy  of  fate. 

Whose  kindness  sent  what  does  their  malice  seem, 

By  lesser  ills  the  greater  to  redeem. 

Nor  can  we  this  weak  shower  a  tempest  call. 

But  drops  of  heat,  that  in  the  sunshine  fall. 

You  have  already  wearied  fortune  so. 

She  cannot  farther  be  your  friend  or  foe; 

But  sits  all  breathless,  and  admires  to  feel 

A  fate  so  weighty,  that  it  stops  our  wheel. 

In  all  things  else  above  our  humble  fate, 

Your  equal  mind  yet  swells  not  into  state. 

But,  like  some  mountain  in  those  happy  isles. 

Where  in  perpetual  spring  young  nature  smiles, 

Your  greatness  shows :  no  horror  to  affright, 

But  trees  for  shade,  and  flowers  to  court  the  sight : 

Sometimes  the  hill  submits  itself  a  while 

In  small  descents,  which  do  its  height  beguile ; 

And  sometimes  mounts,  but  so  as  billows  play, 

Whose  rise  not  hinders  but  makes  short  our  way. 

Your  brow,  which  does  no  fear  of  thunder  know, 

Sees  rolling  tempests  vainly  beat  below ; 

And,  Hke  Olympus'  top,  th'  impression  wears 

Of  love  and  friendship  writ  in  former  years. 

Yet,  unimpaired  with  labours,  or  with  time, 

Your  age  but  seems  to  a  new  youth  to  climb. 

Thus  heavenly  bodies  do  our  time  beget, 

And  measure  change,  but  share  no  part  of  it. 

And  stiU  it  shall  without  a  weight  increase. 

Like  this  new-year,  whose  motions  never  cease. 

For  since  the  glorious  course  you  have  begun 

Is  led  by  Charles,  as  that  is  by  the  sun. 

It  must  both  weightless  and  immortal  prove, 

Because  the  centre  of  it  is  above. 


23 

SATIRE  ON  THE   DUTCH. 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  YEAR  1662. 

As  needy  gallants,  in  the  scrivener's  hands, 

Court  the  rich  knaves  that  gripe  their  mortgaged  lands; 

The  first  fat  buck  of  all  the  season's  sent, 

And  keeper  takes  no  fee  in  compliment ; 

The  dotage  of  some  Enghshmen  is  such, 

To  fawn  on  those  who  ruin  them,  the  I)utch. 

They  shall  have  all,  rather  than  make  a  war 

With  those,  who  of  the  same  rehgion  are. 

The  Straits,  the  Guineartrade,  the  herrings  too ; 

Nay,  to  keep  friendship,  they  shall  pickle  you.^ 

Some  are  resolved  not  to  find  out  the  cheat. 

But,  cuckold-like,  love  them  that  do  the  feat. 

"What  injuries  soe'er  upon  us  fall, 

Yet  still  the  same  rehgion  answers  all  J 

Rehgion  wheedled  us  to  civil  war,        I 

Drew  Enghsh  blood,  and  Dutchmen's  now  would  spare. 

Be  gull'd  no  longer ;  for  you  '11  find  it  true. 

They  have  no  more  religion,  faith  !  than  you. 

Interest 's  the  god  they  worship  in  their  state, 

And  we,  I  take  it,  have  not  much  of  that. 

Well  monarchies  may  own  religion's  name,    \ 

But  states  are  atheists  in  their  very  frame.   \ 

They  share  a  sin ;  and  such  proportions  fall,/ 

Phat,  hke  a  stink,  'tis  nothing  to  them  all. 

Think  on  their  rapine,  falsehood,  cruelty. 

And  that  what  once  they  were,  they  still  would  be. 

To  one  weU-born  the  affront  is  worse  and  more,  I 

When  he's  abused  and  baffled  by  a  boor.  \ 

With  an*ill  grace  the  Dutch  their  mischiefs  do ; 

They've  both  ill  nature  and  ill  manners  too.       ^        ^ 

Well  may  they  boast  themselves  an  ancient  nation ;  \ 

For  they  were  bred  ere  manners  were  in  fashion :      ) 

And  their  new  commonwealth  has  set  them  free 

Only  from  honour  and  civihty. 

Venetians  do  not  more  uncouthly  ride. 

Than  did  their  lubber  state,  mankind  bestride. 

Their  sway  became  theni'^with  as  ill  a  mien. 

As  their  own  paunches  swell  above  their  chin. 

Yet  is  their  empire  no  true  growth  but  humour, 

And  only  two  kings'  touch  can  cure  the  tumour. 


24  TO  HER  ROYAL  HIGHNESS 

As  Cato,  fruits  of  Afric  did  display ; 
Let  us  before  our  eyes  their  Indies  lay : 
All  loyal  English  will  like  him  conclude ; 
Let  Caesar  live,  and  Carthage  be  subdued. 


TO  HER  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  the  DUCHESS  of  YORK 

On  the  Memorable  Victory  gained  by  the  Duke  over  the  Hollanders, 
June  3,  1665,  and  on  her  Journey  afterwards  into  the  North. 

Madam, 

When,  for^ur  sakes,  your  hero  you  resigned 

To  swelling  seas,  and  every  faithless  wind ; 

When  you  released  his  courage,  and  set  free 

A  valour  fatal  to  the  enemy ; 

You  lodged  your  country's  cares  within  your  breast, 

(The  mansion  where  soft  love  should  only  rest :) 

And,  ere  our  foes  abroad  were  overcome, 

The  noblest  conquest  you  had  gain*d  at  home. 

Ah,  what  concerns  did  both  your  souls  divide  ! 

Your  honour  gave  us  what  your  love  denied : 

And  'twas  for  him  much  easier  to  subdue 

Those  foes  he  fought  with,  than  to  part  from  you. 

That  glorious  day,  which  two  such  navies  saw, 

As  each  unmatch'd  might  to  the  world  give  law. 

Neptune,  yet  doubtful  whom  he  should  obey, 

Held  to  them  both  the  trident  of  the  sea : 

The  winds  were  hush'd,  the  waves  in  ranks  were  cast, 

As  awfully  as  when  God's  people  past : 

Those,  yet  uncertain  on  whose  sails  to  blow. 

These,  where  the  wealth  of  nations  ought  to  flow. 

Then  with  the  duke  your  highness  ruled  the  day : 

While  all  the  brave  did  his  command  obey, 

The  fair  and  pious  under  you  did  pray. 

How  powerful  are  chaste  vows  !  the  wind  and  tide 

You  bribed  to  combat  on  the  Enghsh  side. 
f  Thus  to  your  much-loved  lord  you  did  convey 
j  An  unknown  succour,  sent  the  nearest  way. 

!*  New  vigour  to  his  wearied  arms  you  brought, 
(So  Moses  was  upheld  while  Israel  fought) 
While,  from  afar,  we  heard  the  cannon  play. 
Like  distant -thunder  on  a  shiny  day. 


THE  DUCHESS  OP  YORK.  25 

For  absent  friends  we  were  ashamed  to  fear, 
When  we  consider'd  what  you  ventured  there. 
Ships,  men,  and  arms,  our  country  might  restore, 
But  such  a  leader  could  supply  no  more. 
With  generous  thoughts  of  conquest  he  did  bum, 
Yet  fought  not  more  to  vanquish  than  return. 
Fortune  and  victory  he  did  pursue. 
To  bring  them  as  his  slaves  to  wait  on  you. 
Thus  beauty  ravish'd  the  rewards  of  fame. 
And  the  fair  triumph'd  when  the  brave  o'ercame. 
Then,  as  you  meant  to  spread  another  way, 
By  land  your  conquests,  far  as  his  by  sea, 
Leaving  our  southern  chme,  you  march'dvalong 
The  stubborn  North,  ten  thousand  Cupids  strong. 
Like  commons  the  nobility  resort. 
In  crowding  heaps,  to  fill  your  moving  court : 
To  welcome  your  approach  the  vulgar  run. 
Like  some  new  envoy  from  the  distant  sun, 
And  country  beauties  by  their  lovers  go, 
Blessing  themselves,  and  wondering  at  the  show. 
So  when  the  new-born  Phoenix  first  is  seen. 
Her  feather'd  subjects  all  adore  their  queen, 
And  while  she  makes  her  progress  through  the  East, 
'From  every  grove  her  numerous  train 's  increased : 
Each  poet  of  the  air  her  glory  sings. 
And  round  him  the  pleased  audience  clap  their  wings. 


26  AITNUS  MIRABILIS. 

ANNUS  MIKABILIS ;  THE  YEAR  OF  WONDERS,  1666. 

AN  HISTORICAL  POEM. 

TO  THE  METROPOLIS  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN, 
THE  MOST  RENOWNED  AND  LATE  FLOURISHING  CITY  OP  LONDON, 

IN  ITS  REPRESENTATIVES  THE  LORD  MAYOR  AND  COURT  OP  ALDER- 
MEN, THE  SHERIFFS,  AND  COMMON  COUNCIL  OF  IT. 


As  perhaps  I  am  the  first  who  ever  presented  a  work  of  this 
nature  to  the  metropolis  of  any  nation,  so  it  is  likewise  conso- 
nant to  justice,  that  he  who  was  to  give  the  first  example  of 
such  a  dedication  should  begin  it  with  that  city  which  has  set 
a  pattern  to  all  others  of  true  loyalty,  invincible  courage,  and 
unshaken  constancy.  Other  cities  have  been  praised  for  the 
same  virtues,  but  I  am  much  deceived  if  any  have  so  dearly 
purchased  their  reputation;  their  fame  has  been  won  them 
by  cheaper  trials  than  an  expensive,  though  necessary  wa^*, 
a  consuming  pestilence,  and  a  more  consuming  fire.  To  submit 
yourselves  with  that  humility  to  the  judgments  of  Heaven,  and 
at  the  same  time  to  raise  yourselves  with  that  vigour  above  all 
human  enemies ;  to  be  combated  at  once  from  above  and  from 
below;  to  be  struck  down  and  to  triumph  :  I  know  not  whether 
such  trials  have  been  ever  paralleled  in  any  nation :  the  reso- 
lution and  successes  of  them  never  can  be.  Never  had  prince 
or  people  more  mutual  reason  to  love  each  other,  if  suffering  for 
each  other  can  endear  affection.  You  have  come  together  a  pair 
of  matchless  lovers,  through  many  difficulties;  he,  through  a 
long  exile,  various  traverses  of  fortune,  and  the  interposition  of 
many  rivals,  who  violently  ravished  and  withheld  you  from 
him ;  and  certainly  you  have  had  your  share  in  sufferings.  But 
Providence  has  cast  upon  you  want  of  trade,  that  you  might 
appear  bountiful  to  your  country's  necessities ;  and  the  rest  of 
your  afflictions  are  not  more  the  effects  of  God's  displeasure 
(frequent  examples  of  them  having  been  in  the  reign  of  the 
most  excellent  princes)  than  occasions  for  the  manifesting  of 
your  Christian  and  civil  virtues.  To  you,  therefore,  this  year 
of  wonders  is  justly  dedicated,  because  you  have  made  it  so. 
You,  who  are  to  stand  a  wonder  to  all  years  and  ages,  and  who 
have  built  yourselves  an  immortal  monument  on  your  own 
ruins.  You  are  now  a  Phoenix  in  her  ashes,  and,  as  far  as 
humanity  can  approach^  a  great  emblem  of  the  suffering  Deity ; 
but  Heaven  never  made  so  much  piety  and  virtue  to  leave  it 
miserable.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  of  some  virtuous  persons  who 
have  ended  unfortunately,  but  never  of  any  virtuous  nation. 


OF  / 

LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD.  27 

Providence  is  engaged  too  deeply  when  the  cause  becomes  so 
general ;  and  I  cannot  imagine  it  has  resolved  the  ruin  of  that 
people  at  home  which  it  has  blessed  abroad  with  such  successes. 
I  am  therefore  to  conclude  that  your  sufferings  are  at  an  end ; 
and  that  one  part  of  my  poem  has  not  been  more  an  history  of 
your  destruction  than  the  other  a  prophecy  of  your  restoration ; 
the  accomplishment  of  which  happiness,  as  it  is  the  wish  of  all 
true  Englishmen,  so  is  it  by  none  more  passionately  desired 
than  by 

The  greatest  of  your  admirers, 

And  most  humble  of  your  Servants, 

JOHN  DRYDEN. 


AN  ACCOUNT  OP  THE  ENSUING  POEM, 

m 

A  LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD. 

Sir, 

I  AM  so  many  ways  obliged  to  you,  and  so  little  able  to 
return  your  favours,  that,  like  those  who  owe  too  much,  I  can 
only  live  by  getting  farther  into  your  debt.  You  have  not  only 
been  careful  of  my  fortune,  which  was  the  effect  of  your  noble- 
ness, but  you  have  been  solicitous  of  my  reputation,  which  is 
that  of  your  kindness.  It  is  not  long  since  I  gave  you  the 
trouble  of  perusing  a  play  for  me,  and  now,  instead  of  an  ac- 
knowledgment, I  have  given  you  a  greater,  in  the  correction  of 
a  poem.  But  since  you  are  to  bear  this  persecution,  I  will  at 
least  give  you  the  encouragement  of  a  martyr ;  you  could  never 
suffer  in  a  nobler  cause.  For  I  have  chosen  the  most  heroic 
subject  which  any  poet  could  desire  :  I  have  taken  upon  me  to 
describe  the  motives,  the  beginning,  progress,  and  successes  of 
a  most  just  and  necessary  war :  in  it,  the  care,  management, 
and  prudence  of  our  king;  the  conduct  and  valour  of  a  royal 
admiral,  and  of  two  incomparable  generals;  the  invincible 
courage  of  our  captains  and  seamen ;  and  three  glorious  victories, 
the  result  of  all.  After  this,  I  have  in  the  Fire  the  most  deplo- 
rable, but  withal  the  greatest,  argument  that  can  be  imagined : 
the  destruction  being  so  swift,  so  sudden,  so  vast,  and  miserable, 
as  nothing  can  parallel  in  story.  The  former  part  of  this  poem 
relating  to  the  war,  is  but  a  due  expiation  for  my  not  serving 
my  king  and  country  in  it.  All  gentlemen  are  almost  obhged 
to  it ;  and  I  know  no  reason  we  should  give  that  advantage  to 
the  commonalty  of  England,  to  be  foremost  in  brave  actions, 
which  the  noblesse  of  Prance  would  never  suffer  in  their 


28  ANNUS   MIRABILIS. 

peasants.  I  sliould  not  have  written  this  but  to  a  person  who 
has  been  ever  forward  to  appear  in  all  employments,  whither 
his  honour  and  generosity  have  called  him.  The  latter  part  of 
my  poem,  which  describes  the  Fire,  1  owe,  first  to  the  piety  and 
fatherly  affection  of  our  monarch  to  his  suffering  subjects  ;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  to  the  courage,  loyalty,  and  magnanimity  of 
the  city;  both  which  were  so  conspicuous,  that  I  have  wanted 
words  to  celebrate  them  as  they  deserve.  I  have  called  my 
poem  historical,  not  epic,  though  both  the  actions  and  actors  are 
as  much  heroic  as  any  poem  can  contain.  But  since  the  action 
is  not  properly  one,  nor  that  accomplished  in  the  last  successes, 
I  have  judged  it  too  bold  a  title  for  a  few  stanzas,  which  are 
little  more  in  number  than  a  single  Iliad,  or  the  longest  of  the 
JEneids.  For  this  reason  (I  mean  not  of  length,  but  broken 
action,  tied  too  severely  to  the  laws  of  history)  I  am  apt  to 
agree  with  those  who  rank  Lucan  rather  among  historians  in 
verse,  than  epic  poets :  in  whose  room,  if  I  am  not  deceived, 
Silius  Italicus,  though  a  worse  writer,  may  more  justly  be  ad- 
mitted. I  have  chosen  to  write  my  poem  in  quatrians,  or 
stanzas  of  four  in  alternate  rhyme,  because  I  have  ever  judged 
them  more  noble,  and  of  greater  dignity,  both  fotthe  sound  and 
number,  than  any  other  verse  in  use  amongst  us ;  in  which  I  aju 
•sure  I  have  your  approbation.  The  learned  languages  have  cer- 
tainly a  great  advantage  of  us,  in  not  being  tied  to  the  slavery 
of  any  rhyme;  and  were  less  constrained  in  the  quantity  of 
every  syllable,  which  they  might  vary  with  spondees  or  dactyls, 
besides  so  many  other  helps  of  grammatical  figures,  for  the 
lengthening  or  abbreviation  of  them,  than  the  modern  are  in  tlie 
close  of  that  one  syllable,  which  often  confines,  and  more  often  cor- 
rupts the  sense  of  all  the  rest.  But  in  this  necessity  of  our  rhymes, 
I  have  always  found  the  couplet  verse  most  easy,  though  not  so 
proper  for  this  occasion  :  for  there  the  work  is  sooner  at  an  end, 
every  two  lines  concluding  the  labour  of  the  poet;  but  in 
quatrians  he  is  to  carry  it  farther  on,  and  not  only  so,  but  to 
bear  along  in  his  head  th«  troublesome  sense  of  four  lines  toge- 
ther. For  those  who  write  correctly  in  this  kind,  must  needs 
acknowledge,  that  the  last  line  of  the  stanza  is  to  be  considered 
in  the  composition  of  the  first.  Neither  can  we  give  ourselves 
the  liberty  of  making  any  part  of  a  verse  for  the  sake  of  rhyme, 
or  concluding  with  a  word  which  is  not  current  English,  or 
using  the  variety  of  female  rhymes;  all  which  our  fathers 
practised:  and  for  the  female  rhymes,  they  are  still  in  use 
amongst  other  nations ;  with  the  Italian  in  every  line,  with  the 
Spaniard  proftiiscuously.  with  the  French  alternately ;  as  those 
who  have  read  the  Alarique,  the  Pucelle,  or  any  of  their  later 
poems,  will  agree  with  me.  And  besides  this,  they  write  in 
Alexandrines,  or  verses  of  six  feet;  such  as  amongst  us  is  the 
old  translation  of  Homer  by  Chapman ;  all  which,  by  lengthening 


1 


LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD.  29 

of  their  chain,  makes  the  sphere  of  their  activity  the  larger.  I 
have  dwelt  too  long  upon  the  choice  of  my  stanza,  which  you 
may  remember  is  much  better  defended  in  the  preface  to  Gon- 
dibert;  and  therefore  I  will  hasten  to  acquaint  you  with  my 
endeavours  in  the  writing.  In  general  I  will  only  say,  I  have 
never  yet  seen  the  description  of  any  naval  fight  in  the  proper 
terms  which  are  used  at  sea;  and  if  there  be  any  such,  in 
another  language,  as  that  of  Lucan  in  the  third  of  his  Pharsalia, 
yet  I  could  not  avail  myself  of  it  in  the  English;  the  terms  of 
art  in  every  tongue  bearing  more  of  the  idiom  of  it  than  any 
other  words.  We  hear  indeed  among  our  poets,  of  the  thunder- 
ing of  guns,  the  smoke,  the  disorder,  and  the  slaughter ;  but  all 
these  are  common  notions.  And  certainly,  as  those  who,  in  a 
logical  dispute,  keep  in  general  terms,  would  hide  a  fallacy,  so 
those,  who  do  it  in  any  poetical  description,  would  veil  their 
ignorance. 

Descriptas  servare  vices  operumque  colores, 
Cur  ego,  si  nequeo  ignoroque,  Poeta  salutor  ? 

For  my  own  part,  if  1  had  little  knowledge  of  the  sea,  yet  I  have 
thought  it  no  shame  to  learn ;  and  if  I  have  made  some  few 
mistakes,  'tis  only,  as  you  can  bear  me  witness,  because  I  have 
wanted  opportunity  to  correct  them ;  the  whole  poem  being 
first  written,  and  now  sent  you  from  a  place,  where  I  have  not 
so  much  as  the  converse  of  any  seaman.  Yet  though  the  trouble 
I  had  in  writing  it  was  great,  it  was  more  than  recompensed  by 
the  pleasure.  I  found  myself  so  warm  in  celebrating  the  praises 
of  military  men,  two  such  especially  as  the  Prince  and  General, 
that  it  is  no  wonder  if  they  inspired  me  with  thoughts^ above 
my  ordinary  level.  And  I  am  well  satisfied,  that,  as  they  are 
incomparably  the  best  subject  I  ever  had,  excepting  only  the 
Royal  Family,  so  also,  that  this  I  have  written  of  them  is  much 
better  than  what  I  have  performed  on  any  other.  I  have  been 
forced  to  help  out  other  arguments  ;  but  this  has  been  bountiful 
to  me  :  they  have  been  low  and  barren  of  praise,  and  I  have 
exalted  them,  and  made  them  fruitful ;  but  here — Omnia  sponte 
sua  reddit  justissima  ttllus.  I  have  had  a  large,  a  fair,  and  a 
pleasant  field ;  so  fertile,  that,  without  my  cultivating,  it  has 
given  me  two  harvests  in  a  summer,  and  in  both  oppressed  the 
reaper.  All  other  greatness  in  subjects  is  only  counterfeit ;  it  ■ 
will  not  endure  the  test  of  danger  ;  the  greatness  of  arms  is  only 
resil ;  other  greatness  burdens  a  nation  with  its  weight,  this 
supports  it  with  its  strength.  And  as  it  is  the  happiness  of  the 
age,  so  it  is  the  peculiar  goodness  of  the  best  of  kings,  that  we 
may  praise  his  subjects  without  offending  him.  Doubtless  it 
proceeds  from  a  just  confidence  of  his  own  virtue,  which  the 
lustre  of  no  other  can  be  so  great  as  to  darken  in  him ;  for  the 
good  or  the  valiant  are  never  safely  praised  under  a  bad  or 
c 


30  ANNUS  MIEABILIS. 

a  degenerate  prince.  But  to  return  from  this  digression  to  a 
farther  account  of  my  poem ;  I  must  crave  leave  to  tell  you 
that  as  I  have  endeavoured  to  adorn  it  with  noble  thoughts,  so 
much  more  to  express  those  thoughts  with  elocution.  The 
composition  of  all  poems  is,  or  ought  to  be,  of  wit ;  and  wit  in 
the  poet,  or  wit-writing  (if  you  will  give  me  leave  to  use  a  school 
distinction),  is  no  other  than  the  faculty  of  imagination  in  the 
writer,  which,  like  a  nimble  spaniel,  beats  over  and  ranges 
through  the  field  of  memory,  till  it  springs  the  quarry  it  hunted 
after;  or,  without  metaphor,  which  searches  over  all  the 
memory  for  the  species  or  ideas  of  those  things  which  it  designs 
to  represent.  Wit  written  is  that  which  is  well  defined,  the 
happy  result  of  thought,  or  product  of  imagination.  But  to 
proceed  from  wit,  in  the  general  notion  of  it,  to  the  proper  wit 
of  an  heroic  or  historical  poem,  I  judge  it  chiefly  to  consist  im 
the  delightful  imaging  of  persons,  actions,  passions,  or  things. 
*Tis  not  the  jerk  or  sting  of  an  epigram,  nor  the  seeming  contra- 
diction of  a  poor  antithesis,  (the  delight  of  an  ill-judging  audience 
in  a  play  of  rhyme)  nor  the  gingle  of  a  more  poor  Paronomasia  ; 
neither  is  it  so  much  the  morality  of  a  grave  sentence,  affected 
by  Lucan,  but  more  sparingly  used  by  Virgil ;  but  it  is  some 
lively  and  apt  description,  dressed  in  such  colours  of  speech, 
that  it  sets  before  your  eyes  the  absent  object,  as  perfectly  and 
more  delightfully  than  nature.  So  then  the  first  happiness  of  the 
poet's  imagination  is  properly  invention  or  finding  of  the  thought ; 
the  second  is  fancy,  or  the  variation,  deriving  or  moulding  of 
that  thought  as  the  judgment  represents  it  proper  to  the  sub- 
ject ;  the  third  is  elocution,  or  the  art  of  clothing  and  adorning 
that  thought,  so  found  and  varied,  in. apt,  significant,  and  sound- 
ing words  :  the  quickness  of  the  imagination  is  seen  in  the 
invention,  the  fertility  in  the  fancy,  and  the  accuracy  in  the 
expression.  For  the  two  first  of  these,  Ovid  is  famous  among 
the  poets ;  for  the  latter,  Virgil.  Ovid  images  more  often  the 
movements  and  afiections  of  the  mind,  either  combating  between 
two  contrary  passions,  or  extremely  discomposed  by  one.  His 
words  therefore  are  the  least  part  of  his  care  ;  for  he  pictures 
nature  in  disorder,  with  which  the  study  and  choice  of  words  is 
inconsistent.  This  is  the  proper  wit  of  dialogue  or  discourse, 
and  consequently  of  the  drama,  where  all  that  is  said  is  to 
be  supposed  the  efiect  of  sudden  thought ;  which,  though  it 
excludes  not  the  quickness  of  wit  in  repartees,  yet  admits  not 
a  too  curious  election  of  words,  too  frequent  allusions,  or  use  of 
tropes,  or  in  fine  anything  that  shows  remoteness  of  thought  or 
labour  in  the  writer.  On  the  other  side,  Virgil  speaks  not  so 
often  to  us  in  the  i^erson  of  another,  like  Ovid,  but  in  his  own  : 
he  relates  almost  all  things  as  from  himself,  and  thereby  gains 
more  liberty  than  the  other,  to  express  his  thoughts  with  all  the 
graces  of  elocution,  to  write  more  figuratively,  and  to  confess  as 


LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD.  31 

well  the  labour,  as  the  force  of  his  imagination.  Though  he 
describes  his  Dido  well  and  naturally,  in  the  violence  of  her 
passions,  yet  he  must  yield  in  that  to  the  Myrrha,  the  Biblis, 
the  Althaea,  of  Ovid;  for  as  great  an  admirer  of  him  as  I 
am,  I  must  acknowledge,  that  if  I  see  not  more  of  their  souls 
than  I  see  of  Dido's,  at  least  I  have  a  greater  concernment  for 
them :  and  that  convinces  me,  that  Ovid  has  touched  those 
tender  strokes  more  delicately  than  Virgil  could.  But  when 
action  or  persons  are  to  be  described,  when  any  such  image  is 
to  be  set  before  us,  how  bold,  how  masterly  are  the  strokes  of 
Virgil ! — We  see  the  objects  he  presents  us  with  in  their  native 
figures,  in  their  proper  motions ;  but  so  we  see  them,  as  our 
own  eyes  could  never  have  beheld  them  so  beautiful  in  them- 
selves. We  see  the  soul  of  the  poet,  like  that  universal  one  of 
which  he  speaks,  informing  and  moving  through  all  his  pictures : 

Totamque  infusa  per  artus 

Mens  agitat  molem,  et  magno  se  corpore  miscet. 

We  behold  him  embellishing  his  images  as  he  makes  Venus 
breathing  beauty  upon  her  son  ^Eneas. 

lumenque  juventse 

Purpureum,  et  laetos  oculis  alliarat  honores  : 
Quale  man  us  addunt  eb  ri  decus,  aut  ubi  flavo 
Argentum  Pariusve  lapis  circundatur  auro. 

See  his  Tempest,  his  Funeral  Sports,  his  Combat  of  Tumus 
and  uEneas ;  and  in  his  Georgics,  which  I  esteem  the  divinest 
part  of  all  his  writings,  the  Plague,  the  Country,  the  Battle  of 
the  Bulls,  the  Labour  of  the  Bees,  and  those  many  other  excel- 
lent images  of  nature,  most  of  which  are  neither  great  in  them- 
selves nor  have  any  natural  ornament  to  bear  them  up  ;  but  the 
words  wherewith  he  describes  them  are  so  excellent,  that  it 
might  be  well  applied  to  him,  which  was  said  by  Ovid,  Materiam 
superabat  opus.  The  very  sound  of  his  words  has  often  somewhat 
that  is  connatural  to  the  subject ;  and  while  we  read  him,  we  sit, 
as  in  a  play,  beholding  the  scenes  of  what  he  represents.  To 
perform  this,  he  made  frequent  use  of  tropes,  which  you  know 
change  the  nature  of  a  known  word,  by  applying  it  to  some  other 
signification;  and  this  it  is  which  Horace  means  in  his  epistle  to 
the  Pisos : 

Dixeris  egregib,  notum  si  callida  verbum 
Reddiderit  junctura  novum 

But  I  am  sensible  I  have  presumed  too  far  to  entertain  you 
with  a  rude  discourse  of  that  art  which  you  both  know  so  well, 
and  put  into  practice  with  so  much  happiness.  Yet  before  I 
leave  Virgil,  I  must  own  the  vanity  to  tell  you,  and  by  you  the 
world,  that  he  has  been  my  master  in  this  poem.  I  have  fol- 
lowed him  everywhere,  I  know  not  with  what  success,  but  I  am 
Eure  with  diligence  enough ;  my  images  are  many  of  them  copied 


32  AN3SrUS  MIRABILIS. 

from  him,  and  tlie  rest  are  imitations  of  him.  My  expressions, 
also,  are  as  near  as  the  idioms  of  the  two  languages  would 
admit  of  in  translation.  And  this,  sir,  I  have  done  with  that 
boldness  for  which  I  will  stand  accountable  to  any  of  our  little 
critics,  who,  perhaps,  are  no  better  acquainted  with  him  than  I 
am.  Upon  your  first  perusal  of  this  poem,  you  have  taken 
notice  of  some  words  which  I  have  innovated  (if  it  be  too  bold 
for  me  to  say  refined)  upon  his  Latin;  which,  as  I  ofi"er  not  to 
introduce  into  English  prose,  so  I  hope  they  are  neither  im- 
proper nor  altogether  inelegant  in  verse ;  and  in  this  Horace  will 
again  defend  me. 

Et  nova,  fictaque  nuper,  habebunt  verba  fidem,  si 
Graeco  fonte  cadunt,  parce  detorta- 

The  inference  is  exceeding  plain ;  for  if  a  Roman  poet  might 
have  liberty  to  coin  a  word,  supposing  only  that  it  was  derived 
from  the  Greek,  was  put  into  a  Latin  termination,  and  that  he 
used  this  liberty  but  seldom,  and  with  modesty;  how  much 
more  justly  may  I  challenge  that  privilege  to  do  ib  with  the 
same  prerequisites,  from  the  best  and  most  judicious  of  Latin 
writers  ?  In  some  places,  where  either  the  fancy  or  the  words 
were  his,  or  any  other's,  I  have  noted  it  in  the  margin,  that  I 
might  not  seem  a  plagiary;  in  others  I  have  neglected  it,  to 
avoid  as  well  tediousness  as  the  affectation  of  doing  it  too  often. 
Such  descriptions  or  images  well  wrought,  which  I  promise  not 
for  mine,  are,  as  I  have  said,  the  adequate  delight  of  heroic 
poesy;  for  they  beget  admiration,  which  is  its  proper  object;  as 
the  images  of  the  burlesque,  which  is  contrary  to  this,  by  the 
same  reason  beget  laughter :  for  the  one  shows  nature  beautified, 
as  in  the  picture  of  a  fair  woman,  which  we  all  admire;  the 
other  shows  her  deformed,  as  in  that  of  a  lazar,  or  of  a  fool 
with  distorted  face  and  antic  gestures,  at  which  we  cannot  for- 
bear to  laugh,  because  it  is  a  deviation  from  nature.  But  though 
the  same  images  serve  equally  for  the  Epic  poesy,  and  for  the 
Historic  and  Panegyric,  which  are  branches  of  it,  yet  a  several 
«ort  of  sculpture  is  to  be  used  in  them.  If  some  of  them  are  to 
be  like  those  of  Juvenal,  Stantes  in  curribus  ^milianl,  heroes 
drawn  in  their  triumphal  chariots,  and  in  their  full  proportion ; 
others  are  to  be  like  that  of  Virgil,  Spirantia  mollius  cera :  there 
is  somewhat  more  of  softness  and  tenderness  to  be  shown  in 
them.  You  will  soon  find  I  write  not  this  without  concern. 
Some,  who  have  seen  a  paper  of  verses,  which  I  wrote  last  year 
to  her  Highness  the  Duchess,  have  accused  them  of  that  only 
thing  I  could  defend  in  them.  They  said,  I  did  humi  serpere,  that 
I  wanted  not  only  height  of  fancy  but  dignity  of  words  to  set 
it  off.  I  might  well  answer  with  that  of  Horace,  Nunc  non  ei'at 
his  locus  :  I  knew  I  addressed  them  to  a  lady,  and,  accordingly, 
I  afi'ecied  the  softness  of  expression  and  the  smoothness  of 


LETTER  TO  THE  HON.  SIR  ROBERT  HOWARD.  ^ 

measure,  rather  than  the  height  of  thought ;  and  in  what  I  did 
endeavour,  it  is  no  vanity  to  say  I  have  succeeded.  I  detest 
arrogance ;  but  there  is  some  difference  betwixt  that  and  a  just 
defence.  But  I  will  not  farther  bribe  your  candour  or  the 
reader's.  I  leave  them  to  speak  for  me ;  and,  if  they  can,  to 
make  out  that  character,  not  pretending  to  a  greater,  which  I 
have  given  them. 

And  now,  sir,  'tis  time  I  should  relieve  you  from  the  tedious 
length  of  this  account.  You  have  better  and  more  profitable 
employment  for  your  hours,  and  I  wrong  the  public  to  detain 
you  longer.  In  conclusion,  I  must  leave  my  poem  to  you  with 
all  its  faults,  which  I  hope  to  find  fewer  in  the  printing  by  your 
emendations.  I  know  you  are  not  of  the  number  of  those  of 
whom  the  younger  Pliny  speaks :  Nee  sunt  parum  multif  qui 
carpere  amicos  suos  judicium  vacant :  I  am  rather  too  secure  of 
you  on  that  side.  Your  candour  in  pardoning  my  errors  may 
make  you  more  remiss  in  correcting  them ;  if  you  will  not  withal 
consider  that  they  come  into  the  world  with  your  approbation 
and  through  your  hands.  I  beg  from  you  the  greatest  favour 
you  can  confer  upon  an  absent  person,  since  I  repose  upon  your 
management  what  is  dearest  to  me,  my  fame  and  reputation; 
and  therefore  I  hope  it  will  stir  you  up  to  make  my  poem  fairer 
by  many  of  your  blots;  if  not,  you  know  the  story  of  the 
gamester  who  married  the  rich  man's  daughter,  and  when  her 
father  denied  the  portion,  christened  all  his  children  by  his 
surname,  that  if,  in  conclusion,  they  must  beg,  they  should  do 
so  by  one  name  as  well  as  by  the  other.  But  since  the  reproach 
of  my  faults  will  light  on  you,  'tis  but  reason  I  should  do  you 
that  justice  to  the  readers,  to  let  them  know  that  if  there  be 
anything  tolerable  in  this  poem,  they  owe  the  argument  to  your 
choice,  the  writing  to  your  encouragement,  the  correction  to 
your  judgment,  and  the  care  of  it  to  your  friendship,  to  which 
he  must  ever  acknowledge  himself  to  owe  all  things,  who  is, 

Sir, 

The  most  obedient 

And  most  faithful  of  your  Servants, 

JOHN  DRYDEN. 

Fmou  Cbakltok,  in  Wiltshire, 
Ifov.  10, 166C. 


34  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

ANNUS  MIRABILIS ; 

THE  TEAR  OF  WONDERS,   1666. 

In  thriving  arts  long  time  had  Holland  grown, 
Crouching  at  home  and  cruel  when  abroad : 
/      Scarce  leaving  us  the  means  to  claim  our  own ; 

Our  king  they  courted,  and  our  merchants  awed. 

Trade,  which  like  blood  should  circularly  flow, 
Stopp'd  in  their  channels,  found  its  freedom  lost : 
^      Thither  the  wealth  of  all  the  world  did  go. 

And  seem'd  but  shipwrecked  on  so  base  a  coast. 

For  them  alone  the  heavens  had  kindly  heat ; 
^        In  eastern  quarries  ripening  precious  dew : 
1   For  them  the  Idumsean  balm  did  sweat. 
And  in  hot  Ceylon  spicy  forests  grew. 

The  sun  but  seem'd  the  labourer  of  their  year : 
Each  waxing  moon  suppHed  her  watery  store, 

To  swell  those  tides,  which  from  the  line  did  bear 
Their  brim-fuU  vessels  to  the  Belgian  shore. 

Thus,  mighty  in  her  ships,  stood  Carthage  long, 
And  swept  the  riches  of  the  world  from  far ; 

Yet  stoop'd  to  Rome,  less  wealthy,  but  more  strong : 
And  this  may  prove  our  second  Punic  war. 

What  peace  can  be,  where  both  to  one  pretend  ? 

(But  they  more  dihgent^,  and  we  more  strong) 
Or  if  a  peace,  it  soon  must  have  an  end ; 

For  they  would  grow  too  powerful  were  it  long. 

Behold  two  nations  then,  engaged  so  far, 
That  each  seven  years  the  fit  must  shake  each  land: 

Where  France  will  side  to  weaken  us  by  war, 
Who  only  can  his  vast  designs  withstand. 

See  how  he  feeds  th'  Iberian  with  delays, 
To  render  us  his  timely  friendship  vain : 

And  while  his  secret  soul  on  Flanders  preys, 
He  rocks  the  cradle  of  the  babe  of  Spain. 

Such  deep  designs  of  empire  does  he  lay 
O'er  them,  whose  cause  he  seems  to  take  in  hand ; 

And  prudently  would  make  them  lords  at  sea, 
To  whom  with  ease  he  can  give  laws  by  land. 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  35 

This  saw  our  king ;  and  long  within  his  breast 
His  pensive  counsels  balanced  to  and  fro : 

He  grieved  the  land  he  freed  should  bo  oppress'^ 
j^d  he  less  for  it  than  usurpers  do. 

His  generous  mind  the  fair  idea  drew 

Of  fame  and  honour,  which  in  dangers  lay; 

Where  wealth,  like  fruit  on  precipices,  grew, 
Not  to  be  gather'd  but  by  birds  of  prey. 

The  loss  and  gain  each  fatally  were  great ; 

And  still  his  subjects  call'd  aloud  for  war; 
But  peaceful  kings,  o'er  martial  people  set, 

Each  other's  poise  and  coimterbalance  are. 

He  first  survey'd  the  charge  with  carefal  eyes, 
Which  none  but  mighty  monarchs  could  maintain; 

Yet  judged,  Uke  vapours  that  from  Hmbecs  rise, 
It  would  in  richer  showers  descend  again. 

At  length  resolved  t' assert  the  watery  ball, 
He  in  himself  did  whole  Armadas  bring: 

Him  aged  seamen  might  their  master  call, 

And  choose  for  general,  were  he  not  their  king. 

It  seems  as  every  ship  their  sovereign  knows. 

His  awful  summons  they  so  soon  obey ; 
So  hear  the  scaly  herd  when  Proteus  blows. 

And  so  to  pasture  foUow  through  the  sea. 

To  see  this  fleet  upon  the  ocean  move, 

Angels  drew  wide  the  curtains  of  the  skies; 

And  heaven,  as  if  there  wanted  lights  above,        ^ 
For  tapers  made  two  glaring  comets  rise.         / 

Whether  they  unctuous  exhalations  are. 

Fired  by  the  sun,  or  seeming  so  alone  : 
Or  each  some  more  remote  and  sHppery  star. 

Which  loses  footing  when  to  mortals  shown. 

Or  one,  that  bright  companion  of  the  sun, 

Whose  glorious  aspect  seal'd  our  new-born  king ; 

And  now,  a  round  of  greater  years  begun, 

New  influence  from*  his  walks  of  Hght  did  bring. 

Victorious  York  did  first  with  famed  success. 
To  his  known  valour  make  the  Dutch  give  place : 

Thus  Heaven  our  monarch's  fortune  did  confess, 
Beginning  conquest  from  his  royal  race. 


38  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

But  since  it  was  decreed,  auspicious  king, 

In  Britain's  right  that  thou  shouldst  wed  the  main, 

Heaven,  as  a  gage,  would  cast  some  precious  thing, 
And  therefore  doom'd  that  Lawson  should  be  slain. 

Lawson  amongst  the  foremost  met  his  fate. 
Whom  sea-green  Sirens  from  the  rocks  lament : 

ThuR  as  an  offering  for  the  Grecian  state, 
He  first  was  killed  who  first  to  battle  went. 

Their  chief  blown  up  in  air,  not  waves,  expired, 
To  which  his  pride  presumed  to  give  the  law : 

The  Dutch  confess'd  Heaven  present,  and  retired, 
And  all  was  Britain  the  wide  ocean  saw. 

To  nearest  ports  their  shatter'd  ships  repair. 
Where  by  our  dreadful  cannon  they  lay  awed ; 

So  reverently  men  quit  the  open  air. 

Where  thunder  speaks  the  angry  gods  abroad. 

And  now  approach'd  their  fleet  from  India,  fraught 

With  all  the  riches  of  the  rising  sun : 
And  precious  sand  from  southern  climates  brought, 

The  fatal  regions  where  the  war  begun. 

Like  hunted  castors,  conscious  of  their  store. 

Their  way-laid  wealth  to  Norway's  coasts  they  bring : 

There  first  the  North's  cold  bosom  spices  bore, 
And  winter  brooded  on  the  eastern  spring. 

By  the  rich  scent  we  found  our  perfumed  prey. 
Which,  flank'd  with  rocks,  did  close  in  covei-t  lie ; 

And  round  about  their  murdering  cannon  lay, 
At  once  to  threaten  and  invite  the  eye. 

Fiercer  than  cannon,  and  than  rocks  more  hard. 

The  EngHsh  undertake  th'  unequal  war : 
Seven  ships  alone,  by  which  the  port  is  barr'd. 

Besiege  the  Indies,  and  all  Denmark  dare. 
These  fight  like  husbands,  but  hke  lovers  those: 

These  fain  would  keep,  and  those  more  fain  enjoy 
And  to  such  height  their  frantic  passion  grows, 

That  what  both  love,  both  hazard  to  destroy. 
Amidst  whole  heaps  of  spices  lights  a  ball, 

And  now  their  odours  arm'd  against  them  fly 
Some  preciously  by  shatter'd  porcelain  fall, 

Ana  some  by  ai'omatic  spUnters  die. 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  37 

And  though  by  tempests  of  the  prize  bereft, 
In  heaven's  inclemency  some  ease  we  find : 

Our  foes  we  vanquished  by  our  valour  left, 
And  only  yielded  to  the  seas  and  wind. 

Nor  wholly  lost  we  so  deserved  a  prey ; 

For  storms,  repenting,  part  of  it  restored : 
Which  as  a  tribute  from  the  Baltic  sea, 

The  British  ocean  sent  her  mighty  lord. 

Go,  mortals,  now,  and  vex  yourselves  in  vain 
For  wealth,  which  so  uncertainly  must  come : 

When  what  was  brought  so  far,  and  with  such  pain, 
Was  only  kept  to  lose  it  nearer  home. 

The  son,  who,  twice  three  months  on  th'  ocean  toss'd, 
Prepared  to  tell  what  he  had  pass'd  before. 

Now  sees  in  Enghsh  ships  the  Holland  coast. 
And  parents'  arms,  in  vain,  stretch'd  from  the  shore. 

This  careful  husband  had  been  long  away, 

Whom  his  chaste  wife  and  little  children  mourn ; 

Who  on  their  fingers  learn'd  to  tell  the  day 
On  which  their  father  promised  to  return. 

Such  are  the  proud  designs  of  human-kind. 
And  so  we  suffer  shipwreck  everywhere ! 

Alas !  what  port  can  such  a  pilot  find. 
Who  in  the  night  of  fate  must  bUndly  steer  ! 

The  undistinguish'd  seeds  of  good  and  ill. 

Heaven,  in  his  bosom,  from  our  knowledge  hides: 

And  draws  them  in  contempt  of  human  skill. 

Which  oft  for  friends  mistaken  foes  provides.        i" 

Let  Munster's  prelate  ever  be  accursed, 

In  whom  we  seek  the  German  faith  in  vain : 

Alas !  that  he  should  teach  the  EngHsh  first, 
That  fraud  and  avarice  in  the  Church  could  reign ! 

Happy,  who  never  trust  a  stranger's  will. 

Whose  friendship's  in  his  interest  understood ! 

Since  money  given  but  tempts  him  to  be  iU, 
When  power  is  too  remote  to  make  him  good. 

TiU  now,  alone  the  mighty  nations  strove ; 

The  rest,  at  gaze,  without  the  lists  did  stand : 
And  threatening  France,  placed  like  a  painted  Jove, 

Kept  idle  thunder  in  his  Ufted  hand, 
c* 


^ 


38  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

That  eunuch  guardian  of  rich  Holland's  trade, 
Who  envies  us  what  he  wants  power  t'  enjoy ; 

Whose  noiseful  valour  does  no  foe  invade, 
And  weak  assistance  will  his  friends  destroy. 

Oflended  that  we  fought  without  his  leave, 
He  takes  this  time  his  secret  hate  to  show : 

Which  Charles  does  with  a  mind  so  calm  receive, 
As  one  that  neither  seeks  nor  shuns  his  foe. 

With  France,  to  aid  the  Dutch,  the  Danes  unite : 
France  as  their  tyrant,  Denmark  as  their  slave. 

But  when  with  one  three  nations  join  to  fight, 
They  silently  confess  that  one  more  brave. 

Louis  had  chased  the  EngUsh  from  his  shore ; 

But  Charles  the  French  as  subjects  does  invite : 
Would  Heaven  for  each  some  Solomon  restore. 

Who,  by  their  mercy,  may  decide  their  right ! 

Were  subjects  so  but  only  by  their  choice. 
And  not  from  birth  did  forced  dominion  take, 
(■  Our  prince  alone  would  have  the  public  voice ; 
^     And  all  his  neighbours'  realms  would  deserts  make. 

He  without  fear  a  dangerous  war  pursues. 
Which  without  rashness  he  began  before : 

As  honour  made  him  first  the  danger  choose, 
So  still  he  makes  it  good  on  virtue's  score. 

The  doubled  charge  his  subjects'  love  supplies. 
Who,  in  that  bounty,  to  themselves  are  kind : 

So  glad  Egyptians  see  their  Nilus  rise, 
And  in  his  plenty  their  abundance  fijid. 

With  equal  power  he  does  two  chiefs  create, 
S        Two  such  as  each  seem'd  worthiest  when  alone ;    - 
Each  able  to  sustain  a  nation's  fate, 

Since  both  had  found  a  greater  in  their  owm. 

Both  great  in  courage,  conduct,  and  in  fame, 
Yet  neither  envious  of  the  other's  praise ; 

Their  duty,  faith,  and  interest  too  the  same, 
Like  mighty  partners  equally  they  raise. 

The  prince  long  time  had  courted  fortune's  love, 
But  once  possess'd  did  absolutely  reign : 

Thus  with  their  Amazons  the  heroes  strove. 
And  conquer'd  first  those  t)eauties  they  would  gain. 


ANNUS  MIEABILIS.  99 

The  duke  belield,  like  Scipio,  with  disdain, 
That  Carthage,  which  he  ruin'd,  rise  once  more ; 

And  shook  aloft  the  fasces  of  the  main. 
To  fright' those  slaves  with  what  they  felt  before. 

Together  to  the  watery  camp  they  haste, 

Whom  matrons  passing  to  their  children  show: 

Infants'  first  vows  for  them  to  heaven  are  cast, 
And  future  people  bless  them  as  they  go. 

With  them  no  riotous  pomp,  nor  Asian  train, 
To  infect  a  navy  with  their  gawdy  fears  ; 

To  make  slow  fights,  and  victories  but  vain : 
But  war,  severely,  hke  itself,  appears. 

Diffusive  of  themselves,  where'er  they  pass, 

They  make  that  warmth  in  others  they  expect ;  ^ 

Their  valour  works  like  bodies  on  a  glass,  \ 

And  does  its  image  on  their  men  project.  | 

Our  fleet  divides,  and  straight  the  Dutch  appear, 
In  number,  and  a  famed  commander,  bold : 

The  narrow  seas  can  scarce  their  navy  bear, 
Or  crowded  vessels  can  their  soldiers  hold. 

The  Duke,  less  numerous,  but  in  courage  more, 
On  wings  of  all  the  winds  to  combat  flies : 

His  murdering  guns  a  loud  defiance  roar. 
And  bloody  crosses  on  his  tiag-stafi*s  rise. 

Both  furl  their  sails,  and  strip  them  for  the  fight ; 

Their  folded  sheets  dismiss  the  useless  air : 
Th'  Elean  plains  could  boast  no  nobler  fight. 

When  struggling  champions  did  their  bodies  bare. 

Borne  each  by  other  in  a  distant  line, 

The  sea-built  forts  in  dreadful  order  move :       { 

So  vast  the  noise,  as  if  not  fleets  did  join. 
But  lands  unfix'd,  and  floating  nations  strove. 

Now  pass'd,  on  either  side  they  nimbly  tack ; 

Both  strive  to  intercept  and  guide  the  wind: 
And,  in  its  eye,  more  closely  they  come  back, 

To  finish  all  the  deaths  they  left  behind. 

On  high-raised  decks  the  haughty  Belgians  ride, 
Beneath  whose  shade  our  humble  frigates  go : 

Suoh  port  the  elephant  bears,  and  so  defied 
By  the  rhinoceros  her  unequal  foe.     ^, 


4t  ANNUS  MIRABILI8.  ^ 

And  as  the  build,  so  different  is  the  fight ; 

Their  mounting  shot  is  on  our  sails  designed : 
Deep  in  their  hulls  our  deadly  bullets  light, 

And  through  the  yielding  planks  a  passage  find. 

Our  dreaded  admiral  from  far  they  threat, 

Whose  batter'd  rigging  their  whole  war  receives : 

All.  bare,  like  some  old  oak  which  tempests  beat, 
He  stands  and  sees  below  his  scatter'd  leaves. 

Heroes  of  old,  when  wounded,  shelter  sought : 
But  he,  who  meets  all  danger  with  disdain, 

Kv'n  in  their  face  his  ship  to  anchor  brought. 
And  steeple-high  stood  propt  upon  the  main. 

At  this  excess  of  courage,  all  amazed, 

The  foremost  of  his  foes  awhile  withdraw : 

With  such  respect  in  enter'd  Rome  they  gazed, 
Who  on  high  chairs  the  god-like  fathers  saw. 

And  now,  as  where  Patroclus'  body  lay, 

Here  Trojan  chiefs  advanced,  and  there  the  Greek; 

Ours  o'er  the  Duke  their  pious  wings  display. 
And  theirs  the  noblest  spoils  of  Britain  seek. 

Meantime  his  busy  mariners  he  hastes. 
His  shatter'd  sails  with  rigging  to  restore ; 

And  willing  pines  ascend  his  broken  masts, 
Whose  lofty  heads  rise  higher  than  before. 

Straight  to  the  Dutch  he  turns  his  dreadful  prow, 
More  fierce  th'  important  quarrel  to  decide : 

Like  swans,  in  long  array  his  vessels  show, 
Whose  crests*  advancing  do  the  waves  divide. 

Thev  charge,  recharge,  and  all  along  the  sea 

They  drive,  and  squander  the  huge  Belgian  fleet. 
Berkley  alone,  who  nearest  danger  lay, 
i|-  Did  a  like  fate  with  lost  Creusa  meet. 

The  night  comes  on,  we  eager  to  pursue 

The  combat  still,  and  they  ashamed  to  leave : 
TiU  the  last  streaks  of  dying  day  withdrew, 

And  doubtful  moon-light  did  our  rage  deceive. 
In  th'  English  fleet  each  ship  resounds  with  joy 

And  loud  applause  of  their  great  leader's  fame : 
In  fiery  dreams  the  Dutch  they  still  destroy, 

An(i^  slumbering,  smile  at  the  imagined  name. 


ANNUS  MIRABILI8.  41 

Not  SO  the  Holland  fleet,  who,  tired  and  done,  .  C^  .* 
Stretch'd  on  their  decks  hke  weary  oxen  lie:  /   ') 

Faint  sweats  all  down  their  mighty  members  run  j  / 

Vast  bulks  which  Httle  souLs  but  ill  supply. 

In  dreams  they  fearful  precipices  tread : 

Or,  shipwreck'd,  labour  to  some  distant  shore : 

Or  in  dark  churches  walk  among  the  dead  ; 

They  wake  with  horror,  and  dare  sleep  no  more. 

The  morn  they  look  on  with  unwilling  eyes, 
Till  from  their  main-top  joyful  news  they  hear 

Of  ships,  which  by  their  mould  bring  new  suppUes, 
And  in  their  colours  Belgian  lions  bear. 

Our  watchful  general  had  discem'd  from  far 
This  mighty  succour,  which  made  glad  the  foe : 

He  sigh'd,  but,  hke  a  father  of  the  war, 
His  face  spake  hope,  while  deep  his  sorrows  flow. 

His  wounded  men  he  first  sends  off  to  shore, 

Never,  till  now,  unwilling  to  obey  : 
They,  not  their  wounds,  but  want  of  strength  deplore, 

Aiid  think  them  happy  who  with  him  can  stay. 

Then  to  the  rest,  "  Rejoice,"  said  he,  "  to-day  ; 

In  you  the  fortune  of  Great  Britain  hes  : 
Am^ng  so  brave  a  people,  you  are  they 

Whom  Heaven  has  chose  to  fight  for  such  a  prize. 

"  If  number  EngHsh  courages  could  quell, 

We  should  at  first  have  shunn'd,  not  met  our  foes : 

Whose  numerous  sails  the  fearful  only  tell : 

Courage  from  hearts,  and  not  from  numbers,  grows." 

He  said,  nor  needed  more  to  say :  with  haste 
To  their  known  stations  cheerfully  they  go  ; 

And  all  at  once,  disdaining  to  be  last, 
SoHcit  every  gale  to  meet  the  foe. 

Nojr  did  th'  encouraged  Belgians  long  delay. 
But  bold  in  others,  not  themselves,  they  stood : 

So  thick,  our  navy  scarce  could  steer  their  way, 
But  seem'd  to  wander  in  a  moving  wood. 

Our  Uttle  fleet  was  now  engaged  so  far, 

That,  like  the  sword-fish  with  £he  whale,  they  fought : 
The  combat  only  seem'd  a  civil  war, 

TiU  through  their  bowels  we  our  passage  wrought. 


42  ANNUS  MIEABILIS. 

Never  had  valour,  no  not  ours,  before 
Done  aught  like  this  upon  the  land  or  main, 

Where  not  to  be  o'ercome  was  to  do  more 
Than  all  the  conquests  former  kings  did  gain. 

The  mighty  ghosts  of  our  great  Harrys  rose, 
And  armed  Edwards  look'd  with  anxious  eyes, 

To  see  this  fleet  among  unequal  foes. 

By  which  fate  promised  them  their  Charles  should  rise 

Meantime  the  Belgians  tack  upon  our  rear. 
And  raking  chase-guns  through  our  stems  they  send : 

Close  by,  their  fire-ships,  like  jackals,  appear. 
Who  on  their  lions  for  the  prey  attend. 

Silent  in  smoke  of  cannon  they  come  on  : 
Such  vapours  once  did  fiery  Cacus  hide  : 

In  these  the  height  of  pleased  revenge  is  shown, 
Who  burn  contented  by  another's  side. 

Sometimes  from  fighting  squadrons  of  each  fleet, 
Deceived  themselves,  or  to  preserve  some  friend, 

Two  grappling  ^tnas  on  the  ocean  meet, 

And  English  fires  with  Belgian  flames  contend. 

Now,  at  each  tack,  our  little  fleet  grows  less  ; 

And,  like  maim'd  fowl,  swim  lagging  on  the  main ; 
Their  greater  loss  their  numbers  scarce  confess. 

While  they  lose  cheaper  than  the  English  gain. 

Have  you  not  seen,  when,  whistled  from  the  fist, 
Some  Mcon  stoops  at  what  her  eye  design'd, 

And,  with  her  eagerness  the  quarry  miss'd, 

Straight  flies  at  check,  and  clips  it  down  the  wind  1 

The  dastard  crow  that  to  the  wood  made  wing, 

And  sees  the  groves  no  shelter  can  afford, 
With  her  loud  caws  her  craven  kind  does  bring, 

Who,  safe  in  numbers,  cuff*  the  noble  bird. 
Among  the  Dutch  thus  Albemarle  did  fare  : 

He  could  not  conquer,  and  disdain'd  to  fly ; 
Past  hope  of  safety,  'twas  his  latest  care, 

Like  faUing  Caesar,  decently  to  die. 

Yet  pity  did  his  manly  spirit  move. 

To  see  those  perish  who  so  well  had  fought ; 

And  generously  with  his  despair  he  strove, 
Eesolved  to  live  till  he  their  safety  wrought. 


ANNUS   MIRABILIS.  43 

Let  other  muses  write  his  prosperous  fate,  :^ 

Of  conquer'd  nations  tell,  and  kings  restored  :  y' 

But  mine  shall  sing  of  his  echpsed  estate, 

Which,  like  the  sun's,  more  wonders  does  afford. 

He  drew  his  mighty  frigates  all  before, 
^     On  which  the  foe  his  fruitless  force  employs : 
His  weak  ones  deep  into  his  rear  he  bore 

Remote  from  guns,  as  sick  men  from  the  noise. 

His  fiery  cannon  did  their  passage  guide, 

And  following  smoke  obscured  them  from  the  foe ; 

Thus  Israel  safe  from  the  Egyptian's  pride, 
By  flaming  pillars,  and  by  clouds,  did  go. 

Elsewhere  the  Belgian  force  we  did  defeat, 

But  here  our  courages  did  theirs  subdue  : 
So  Xenophon  once  led  that  famed  retreat, 

Which  first  the  Asian  empire  overthrew. 

The  foe  approach'd,  and  one  for  his  bold  sin 

Was  sunk  ;  as  he  that  touch'd  the  ark  was  slain : 

The  wild  waves  master'd  him  and  suck'd  him  in, 
And  smihng  eddies  dimpled  on  the  main. 

This  seen,  the  rest  at  awful  distance  stood : 

As  if  they  had  been  there  as  servants  set 
To  stay,  or  to  go  on,  as  he  thought  good, 

And  not  pursue  but  wait  on  his  retreat. 

So  Libyan  huntsmen,  on  some  sandy  plain. 
From  shady  coverts  roused,  the  Hon  chase  : 

The  kingly  beast  roars  out  with  loud  disdain. 
And  slowly  moves,  unknowing  to  give  place. 

But  if  some  one  approach  to  dare  his  force. 

He  swings  his  tail,  and  swiftly  turns  him  round  ; 

With  one  paw  seizes  on  his  trembling  horse, 
And  with  the  other  tears  him  to  the  ground. 

Amidst  these  toils  succeeds  the  balmy  night ; 

Now  hissing  waters  the  quench'd  guns  restore  ;  : 
And  weary  waves,  withdrawing  from  the  fight,        V\ 

Lie  lull'd  and  panting  on  the  silent  shore.  * 

The  moon  shone  clear  on  the  becalmed  flood. 

Where  while  her  beams  like  glittering  silver  play, 

Upon  the  deck  our  careful  general  stood, 
And  deeply  mused  on  the  succeeding  day. 


44 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 


"  That  happy  sun,"  said  he,  "  will  rise  again, 
j\       Who  twice  victorious  did  our  navy  see ; 
h^    And  T  alone  must  view  him  rise  in  vain, 
Without  one  ray  of  all  his  star  for  me. 

"  Yet  hke  an  English  general  will  I  die, 
And  all  the  ocean  make  my  spacious  grave : 
.  jWomen  and  cowards  on  the  land  may  lie, 
'\  j}    The  sea's  a  tomb  that's  proper  for  the  brave." 

I   Restless  he  pass'd  the  remnants  of  the  night, 

Till  the  fresh  air  proclaim'd  the  morning  nigh  : 
And  burning  ships,  the  martyrs  of  the  fight, 
With  paler  fires  beheld  the  eastern  sky. 

But  now,  his  stores  of  ammunition  spent, 
His  naked  valour  is  his  only  guard  ; 

Rare  thunders  are  from  his  dumb  cannon  sent, 
And  soUtary  guns  are  scarcely  heard. 

Thus  far  had  fortune  power,  here  forced  to  stay, 
Nor  longer  durst  with  virtue  be  at  strife ; 

This,  as  a  ransom,  Albemarle  did  pay 
For  all  the  glories  of  so  great  a  Ufe. 

For  now  brave  Rupert  from  afar  appears. 

Whose  waving  streamers  the  glad  general  knows : 

With  full-spread  sails  his  eager  navy  steers. 
And  every  ship  in  swift  proportion  grows. 

The  anxious  prince  had  heard  the  cannon  long. 
And  from  that  length  of  time  dire  omens  drew 

Of  EngUsh  overmatch'd,  and  Dutch  too  strong, 
Who  never  fought  three  days,  but  to  pursue. 

Then,  as  an  eagle,  who,  with  pious  care. 
Was  beating  widely  on  the  wing  for  prey, 

To  her  now  silent  eyrie  does  repair. 
And  finds  her  callow  infants  forced  away : 

Stung  with  her  love,  she  stoops  upon  the  plain, 
The  broken  air  loud  whisthng  as  she  flies : 

She  stops  and  Hstens,  and  shoots  forth  again. 
And  guides  her  pinions  by  her  young  ones'  cries. 

With  such  kind  passion  hastes  the  prince  to  fight, 
i        And  spreads  his  flying  canvas  to  the  sound ; 
(    Him,  whom  no  danger,  were  he  there,  could  fHght, 
\      Now,  absent,  every  little  noise  can  wound. 


^, 


ANNUS   MIRABILIS.  45 


As  in  a  drought  the  thirsty  creatures  cry, 
And  gape  upon  the  gather'd  clouds  for  rain : 

And  first  the  martlet  meets  it  in  the  sky, 

And  with  wet  wings  joys  all  the  feather'd  train. 

With  such  glad  hearts  did  our  despairing  men 
Salute  the  appearance  of  the  prince's  fleet : 

And  each  ambitiously  would  claim  the  ken, 
That  with  first  eyes  did  distant  safety  meet. 

The  Dutch,  who  came  like  greedy  hinds  before, 
To  reap  the  harvest  their  ripe  ears  did  yield : 

Now  look  like  those,  when  rolling  thunders  roar. 
And  sheets  of  lightning  blast  the  standing  field. 

Full  in  the  prince's  passage,  hills  of  sand 
And  dangerous  flats  in  secret  ambush  lay, 

Where  the  false  tides  skim  o'er  the  cover'd  land, 
And  seamen  with  dissembled  depths  betray. 

The  wily  Dutch,  who,  like  fall'n  angels,  fear'd 
This  new  Messiah's  coming,  there  did  wait. 

And  round  the  verge  their  braving  vessels  steer'd, 
To  tempt  his  courage  with  so  fair  a  bait. 

But  he,  unmoved,  contemns  their  idle  threat, 
Secure  of  fame  whene'er  he  please  to  fight : 

His  cold  experience  tempers  all  his  heat. 

And  inbred  worth  does  boasting  valour  slight. 

Heroic  vii-tue  did  his  actions  guide. 

And  he  the  substance  not  the  appearance  chose  : 
To  rescue  one  such  friend  he  took  more  pride. 

Than  to  destroy  whole  thousands  of  such  foes. 

But  when  approach'd,  in  strict  embraces  bound, 
Rupert  and  Albemarle  together  grow  ; 

He  joys  to  have  his  friend  in  safety  found. 

Which  he  to  none  but  to  that  friend  would  owe. 

The  cheerful  soldiers,  with  new  stores  supplied, 

Now  long  to  execute  their  spleenful  will ; 
And,  in  revenge  for  those  three  days  they  tried, 

Wish  one,  like  Joshua's,  when  the  sun  stood  stilL 
Thus  reinforced,  against  the  adverse  fleet. 

Still  doubUng  ours,  brave  Rupert  leads  the  way : 
With  the  first  blushes  of  the  morn  they  meet, 

And  bring  night  back  upon  the  new-bom  day. 


\1^o 


46  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

His  presence  soon  blows  up  the  kindling  fight, 
'^,       And  his  loud  guns  speak  thick  like  angry  men : 
It  seem'd  as  slaughter  had  been  breathed  all  night, 
And  death  new  pointed  his  dull  dart  again. 

The  Dutch  too  well  his  mighty  conduct  knew, 
And  matchless  courage,  since  the  former  fight : 

Whose  navy  Hke  a  stifi"-stretch'd  cord  did  show, 
Till  he  bore  in  and  bent  them  into  flight. 

The  wind  he  shares,  while  half  their  fleet  offends 
His  open  side,  and  high  above  him  shows  : 

Upon  the  rest  at  pleasure  he  descends, 
And,  doubly  harm'd,  he  double  harms  bestows. 

Behind,  the  general  mends  his  weary  pace, 
And  sullenly  to  his  revenge  he  sails  : 

So  glides  some  trodden  serpent  on  the  grass. 
And  long  behind  his  wounded  volume  trails. 

The  increasing  sound  is  borne  to  either  shore. 
And  for  their  stakes  the  throwing  nations  fear : 

Their  passions  double  with  the  cannon's  roar. 
And  with  warm  wishes  each  man  combats  there. 

Plied  thick  and  close  as  when  the  fight  begun, 
Their  huge  unwieldy  navy  wastes  away  ; 
/    So  sicken  waning  moons  too  near  the  sun, 
J        And  blunt  their  crescents  on  the  edge  of  day. 

I     And  now  reduced  on  equal  terms  to  fight. 
Their  ships  like  wasted  patrimonies  show  ; 
Where  the  thin  scattering  trees  admit  the  light, 
And  shun  each  other's  shadows  as  they  grow. 

The  warhke  prince  had  sever'd  from  the  rest 
Two  giant  ships,  the  pride  of  all  the  main ; 

Which  with  his  one  so  vigorously  he  press'd. 
And  flew  so  home  they  could  not  rise  again. 

Already  batter'd,  by  his  lee  they  lay. 

In  vain  upon  the  passing  winds  they  call : 

The  passing  winds  through  their  torn  canvas  play, 
And  flagging  sails  on  heartless  sailors  faU. 

Their  open'd  sides  receive  a  gloomy  light. 
Dreadful  as  day  let  in  to  shades  below  ; 

Without,  grim  death  rides  barefaced  in  their  sight, 
And  urges  entering  billows  as  they  flow. 


ANNUS  MIRAfilLIS.  47 

When  one  dire  shot,  the  last  they  could  supply, 
Close  by  the  board  the  prince's  main-mast  bore : 

All  three  now  helpless  by  each  other  lie, 

And  this  oflends  not,  and  those  fear  no  more. 

So  have  I  seen  some  fearful  hare  maintain 
A  course,  till  tired  before  the  dog  she  lay : 

Who,  stretch'd  behind  her,  pants  upon  the  plain, 
Past  power  to  kill,  as  she  to  get  away. 

With  his  loU'd  tongue  he  faintly  licks  his  prey  ; 

His  warm  breath  blows  her  flix  up  as  she  lies ; 
She,  trembling,  creeps  upon  the  ground  away, 

And  looks  back  to  him  with  beseeching  eyes. 

The  prince  unjustly  does  his  stars  accuse, 
Which  hinder'd  him  to  push  his  fortune  on ; 

For  what  they  to  his  courage  did  refuse, 
By  mortal  valour  never  must  be  done. 

This  lucky  hour  the  wise  Batavian  takes, 
And  warns  his  tatter'd  fleet  to  follow  home : 

Proud  to  have  so  got  off  with  equal  stakes, 
Where  'twas  a  triumph  not  to  be  o'ercome. 

The  general's  force,  as  kept  ahve  by  fight, 
Now,  not  opposed,  no  longer  can  pursue  : 

Lasting  till  Heaven  had  done  his  courage  right ; 
When  he  had  conquer'd  he  his  weakness  knew. 

He  casts  a  frown  on  the  departing  foe. 

And  sighs  to  see  him  quit  the  watery  field ; 

His  stern  fix'd  eyes  no  satisfaction  show. 
For  all  the  glories  which  the  fight  did  yield. 

Though,  as  when  fiends  did  miracles  avow. 

He  stands  confess'd  ev'n  by  the  boastful  Dutch : 

He  only  does  his  conquest  disavow. 

And  thinks  too  httle,  what  they  found  too  much 

Keturn'd,  he  with  the  fleet  resolved  to  stay  ; 

No  tender  thoughts  of  home  his  heart  divide ; 
Domestic  joys  and  cares  he  puts  away  ;  ^       j 

,For  realms  are  households  which  the  great  must  guide  ( 

As  those  who  unripe  veins  in  mines  explore, 

On  the  rich  bed  again  the  warm  turf  lay. 
Till  time  digests  the  yet  imperfect  ore, 

And  know  it  will  be  gold  another  day : 


48  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 


)^0\ 


So  looks  our  monarch  on  this  early  fight, 
Th'  essay  and  rudiments  of  great  success  : 

Which  all-maturing  time  must  bring  to  light, 

While  he,  like  Heaven,  does  each  day's  labour  bless. 

Heaven  ended  not  the  first  or  second  day, 
Yet  each  was  perfect  to  the  work  designed  : 

God  and  kings  work,  when  they  their  work  survey. 
A  passive  aptness  in  all  subjects  find. 

In  burden'd  vessels  first,  with  speedy  care. 
His  plenteous  stores  do  season'd  timber  send ; 

Thither  the  brawny  carpenters  repair. 

And  as  the  surgeons  of  maim'd  ships  attend. 

With  cord  and  canvas  from  rich  Hamburgh  sent, 
His  navy's  moulted  wings  he  imps  once  more ; 

Tall  Norway  fir,  their  masts  in  battle  spent. 

And  English  oak,  sprung  leaks  and  planks,  restore. 

All  hands  employ'd,  the  royal  work  grows  warm  : 
Like  labouring  bees  on  a  long  summer's  day, 

Some  sound  the  trumpet  for  the  rest  to  swarm, 
And  some  on  beUs  of  tasted  hlies  play. 

With  gluey  wax  some  new  foundations  lay 

Of  virgin  combs,  which  from  the  roof  are  hung : 

Some  arm'd  within  doors  upon  duty  stay. 
Or  tend  the  sick,  or  educate  the  young. 

So  here  some  pick  out  bullets  from  the  sides. 

Some  drive  old  oakum  through  each  seam  and  rift : 

Their  left  hand  does  the  calking-iron  guide, 
The  rattling  mallet  with  the  right  they  lift. 

With  boiling  pitch  another  near  at  hand. 

From  friendly  Sweden  brought,  the  seams  instops  • 

Which  well  laid  o'er,  the  salt  sea-waves  withstand, 
And  shakes  them  from  the  rising  beak  in  drops. 

Some  the  gall'd  ropes  with  dawby  marline  bind. 
Or  cere-cloth  masts  with  strong  tarpawling  coats : 

To  tiy  new  shrouds  one  mounts  into  the  wind, 
And  one,  below,  their  ease  or  stifihess  notes. 

Our  careful  monarch  stands  in  person  by. 
His  new-cast  cannons'  firmness  to  explore  : 

The  strength  of  big-corn'd  powder  loves  to  try, 
And  ball  and  cartridge  sorts  for  every  bore. 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  49 

Each  day  brings  fresh  supplies  of  arms  and  men, 

And  ships  which  all  last  winter  were  abroad ;  ,'  ■■) 

And  such  as  fitted  since  the  fight  had  been,  /    ' 

Or  new  from  stocks  were  faU'n  into  the  road. 

The  goodly  London  in  her  gallant  trim, 
(The  phcenix  daughter  of  the  vanish'd  old,) 

Like  a  rich  bride  does  to  the  ocean  swim, 
And  on  her  shadow  rides  in  floating  gold. 

Her  flag  aloft  spread  ruffling  to  the  wind, 

And  sanguine  streamers  seem  the  flood  to  fire : 

The  weaver,  charm'd  with  what  his  loom  design'd, 
Goes  on  to  sea,  and  knows  not  to  retire. 

With  roomy  decks,  her  guns  of  mighty  strength. 
Whose  low-laid  mouths  each  mounting  billow  laves : 

Deep  in  her  draught,  and  warlike  in  her  length, 
She  seems  a  sea-wasp  flying  on  the  waves. 

This  martial  present,  piously  design'd. 
The  loyal  city  give  their  best-loved  kiifig : 

And,  with  a  bounty  ample  as  the  wind. 

Built,  fitted,  and  maintained,  to  aid  him  bring. 

By  viewing  nature,  nature's  handmaid,  art  1 

Makes  mighty  things  from  small  beginnings  grow ; 

Thus  fishes  first  to  shipping  did  impart,  I 

Their  tail  the  rudder,  and  their  head  the  prow.        ^ 

Some  log  perhaps  upon  the  waters  swam. 
An  useless  drift,  which  rudely  cut  within, 

And,  hollow'd,  first  a  floating  trough  became, 
And  'cross  some  rivulet  passage  did  begin. 

In  shipping  such  as  this,  the  Irish  kern. 

And  untaught  Indian,  on  the  stream  did  glide : 

Ere  sharp-keel'd  boats  to  stem  the  flood  did  learn, 
Or  fin-like  oars  did  spread  from  either  side. 

Add  but  a  sail,  and  Saturn  so  appear'd, 

Wh^n  from  lost  empire  he  to  exile  went. 
And  with  the  golden  age  to  Tyber  steer'd, 

Where  coin  and  commerce  first  he  did  invent. 

Rude  as  their  ships  was  navigation  then ; 

No  useful  compass  or  meridian  known  ; 
Coasting,  they  kept  the  land  within  their  ken. 

And  knew  no  North  but  when  the  Pole-star  shone. 


50 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 


Of  all  who  since  have  used  the  open  sea, 

Than  the  bold  English  none  more  fame  have  won : 

Beyond  the  year,  and  out  of  heaven's  high  way, 
They  make  discoveries  where  they  see  no  sun. 

1  But  what  so  long  in  vain,  and  yet  unknown, 
/      By  poor  mankind's  benighted  wit  is  sought, 
Shall  in  this  age  to  Britain  first  be  shown. 
And  hence  be  to  admiring  nations  taught. 

The  ebbs  of  tides  and  their  mysterious  flow, 
We,  as  arts'  elements,  shall  understand, 

And  as  by  line  upon  the  ocean  go. 

Whose  paths  shall  be  familiar  as  the  land. 

Instructed  ships  shall  sail  to  quick  commerce, 
By  which  remotest  regions  are  alhed  ; 

Which  makes  one  city  of  the  universe  ; 
Where  some  may  gain,  and  all  may  be  supplied. 

Then  we  upon  our  globe's  last  verge  shall  go, 
And  view  the  ocean  leaning  on  the  sky : 

From  thence  our  rolling  neighbours  we  shall  know, 
And  on  the  lunar  world  securely  pry. 

This  T  foretel  from  your  auspicious  care, 

Who  great  in  search  of  God  and  nature  grow  ; 

Who  best  your  wise  Creator's  praise  declare. 
Since  best  to  praise  his  works  is  best  to  know. 

0  truly  royal !  who  behold  the  law 
And  rule  of  beings  in  your  Maker's  mind : 

A^d  thence,  hke  limbecs,  rich  ideas  draw. 
To  fit  the  levell'd  use  of  human-kind. 

But  first  the  toils  of  war  we  must  endure. 

And  from  th'  injurious  Dutch  redeem  the  seas. 

War  makes  the  valiant  of  his  right  secure. 
And  gives  up  fraud  to  be  chastised  with  ease. 

Already  were  the  Belgians  on  our  coast. 
Whose  fleet  more  mighty  every  day  became 

By  late  success,  which  they  did  falsely  boast, 
And  now  by  first  appearing  seem'd  to  claim. 

Designing,  subtle,  diligent,  and  close, 

They  knew  to  manage  war  by  wise  delay : 

Yet  all  those  arts  their  vanity  did  cross, 
And  by  their  pride  their  piiidence  did  betray. 


ANNUS   MIRABILIS.  51 

Nor  staid  the  English  long  ;  but  well  supplied, 
Appear  as  numerous  as  th'  insulting  foe : 

The  combat  now  by  courage  must  be  tried, 
And  the  success  the  braver  nation  show. 

There  was  the  Plymouth  squadron  now  come  in, 
j^  ^hich  in  the  Straits  last  winter  was  abroad ; 

;  ■  Which  twice  on  Biscay's  working  bay  had  been, 
And  on  the  midland  sea  the  French  had  awed. 

'  Old  expert  Allen,  loyal  all  along, 

Famed  for  his  action  on  the  Smyrna  fleet : 
And  Holmes,  whose  name  shall  live  in  epic  song, 
While  music  numbers,  or  while  verse  has  feet. 

Holmes,  the  Achates  of  the  general's  fight ; 

Who  first  bewitch'd  our  eyes  with  Guinea  gold : 
As  once  old  Cato  in  the  Roman  sight 

The  tempting  fruits  of  Afric  did  unfold. 

With  him  went  Sprag,  as  bountiful  as  brave, 

Whom  his  high  courage  to  command  had  brought : 

Harman,  who  did  the  twice-fired  Harry  save. 
And  in  his  burning  ship  undaunted  fought. 

-;  Young  Hollis  on  a  muse  by  Mars  begot, 

Born,  Csesar-like,  to  write  and  act  great  deeds : 
Impatient  to  revenge  his  fatal  shot, 

His  right  hand  doubly  to  his  left  succeeds. 

Thousands  were  there  in  darker  fame  that  dwell, 
Whose  deeds  some  nobler  poem  shall  adorn : 

And,  though  to  me  unknoAvn,  they  sure  fought  well, 
Whom  Kupert  led,  and  who  were  British  bom. 

Of  every  size  an  hundred  fighting  sail: 
So  vast  the  navy  now  at  anchor  rides, 
'  That  underneath  it  the  press'd  waters  fail. 

And  with  its  weight  it  shoulders  off  the  tides. 

Now,  anchors  weigh'd,  the  seamen  shout  so  shriU? 
That  heaven,  and  earth,  and  the  wide  ocean  rings : 
'A  breeze  from  westward  waits  their  sails  to  fill. 
And  rests  in  those  high  beds  his  downy  wings. 

The  wary  Dutch  this  gathering  storm  foresaw, 
And  durst  not  bide  it  on  the  English  coast : 
^  Behind  their  treacherous  shallows  they  withdraw, 
And  there  lay  snares  to  catch  the  British  hosL 


1^^ 


i 


52  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

/  So  the  false  spider,  when  her  nets  are  spread, 
/      Deep  ambush'd  in  her  silent  den  does  lie  ; 
'^*   }  And  feels  far  oif  the  trembling  of  her  thread, 

/      Whose  filmy  cord  should  bind  the  struggling  fly. 

Then  if  at  last  she  find  him  fast  beset, 

She  issues  forth,  and  runs  along  her  loom  : 

She  joys  to  touch  the  captive  in  her  net. 
And  drag  the  little  wretch  in  triumph  home. 

The  Belgians  hoped,  that,  with  disorder'd  haste, 
Our  deep-cut  keels  upon  the  sands  might  run : 

Or,  if  with  caution  leisurely  were  past. 

Their  numerous  gross  might  charge  us  one  by  one. 

But  with  a  fore-wind  pushing  them  above, 

And  swelling  tide  that  heaved  them  from  below, 

O'er  the  blind  flats  our  warlike  squadrons  move, 
And  with  spread  sails  to  welcome  battle  go. 

It  seem'd  as  there  the  British  Neptune  stood. 
With  all  his  hosts  of  waters  at  command, 

Beneath  them  to  submit  th'  officious  flood. 

And  with  his  trident  shoved  them  off  the  sand. 

To  the  pale  foes  they  suddenly  draw  near. 
And  summon  them  to  unexpected  fight : 

They  start  like  murderers  when  ghosts  appear, 
And  draw  their  curtains  in  the  dead  of  night. 

Now  van  to  van  the  foremost  squadrons  meet. 
The  midmost  battles  hasting  up  behind : 

Who  view  far  off"  the  storm  of  falling  sleet. 
And  hear  their  thunder  rattling  in  the  wind. 

At  length  the  adverse  admirals  appear  ; 

The  two  bold  champions  of  each  country's  right : 
Their  eyes  describe  the  lists  as  they  come  near. 

And  draw  the  lines  of  death  before  they  fight. 

The  distance  judged  for  shot  of  every  size. 

The  linstocks  touch,  the  ponderous  ball  expires  : 

The  vigorous  seaman  every  port-hole  plies. 
And  adds  his  heart  to  every  gun  he  fires  ! 

Pierce  was  the  fight  on  the  proud  Belgians'  side, 
For  honour,  which  they  seldom  fought  before  : 

But  now  they  by  their  own  vain  boasts  were  tied, 
And  forced,  at  least  in  show,  to  prize  it  more. 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  53 

But  sharp  remembrance  on  the  English  part, 
And  shame  of  being  matched  by  such  a  foo^ 

Rouse  conscious  virtue  up  in  every  heart, 
And  seeming  to  be  stronger  makes  them  so.  j 

Not  long  the  Belgians  could  that  fleet  sustain, 
Which  did  two  generals'  fates  and  Caesar's  bear ; 

Each  several  ship  a  victory  did  gain, 
As  Rupert  or  as  Albemarle  were  there, 

Tlieir  batter'd  admiral  too  soon  withdrew, 
Unthank'd  by  ours  for  his  unfinish'd  fight : 

Bfit  he  the  minds  of  his  Dutch  masters  knew,  / 

Who  call'd  that  providence  which  we  call'd  flighl*.  I 

Never  did  men  more  joyfully  obey, 

Or  sooner  understood  the  sign  to  fly  i 
With  such  alacrity  they  bore  away, 

As  if  to  praise  them  all  the  States  stood  by. 

O  fjamous  leader  of  the  Belgian  fleet, 

Thy  monument  inscribed  such  praise  shall  wea?^ 
As  "Vario  timely  flying  once  did  meet, 

Because  he  did  not  of  his  Rome  despair, 

Behold  that  navy,  which  a  while  before 
Provoked  the  tardy  English  to  the  fight  j 

Now  draw  their  beaten  vessels  close  to  shore. 
As  larks  lie  dared  to  shun  the  hobbies  flight. 

Whoe'er  would  English  monuments  survey, 
In  other  records  may  our  courage  know : 

But  let  them  hide  the  story  of  this  day, 

AVhose  fame  was  blemish'd  by  too  base  a  foe. 

Or  if  too  busily  they  will  inquire 

Into  a  victory,  which  we  disdain  ; 
Then  let  them  know,  the  Belgians  did  retire 

Before  the  patron  saint  of  injured  Spaiu, 

Repenting  England  this  revengeful  day 
To  Philip's  manes  did  an  oSering  bring ! 

England,  which  first,  by  leading  them  astray, 
Hatch'd  up  rebelhon  to  destroy  her  kjpg. 

Our  fathers  bent  their  baneful  industry. 

To  check  a  monarchy  that  slowly  grew  ; 
But  did  not  France  or  Holland's  fate  foresee, 

Whose  rising  power  to  swift  dominion  flew, 

D 


54  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

^.     In  fortune's  empire  blindly  thus  we  go, 
J  iff}         And  wander  after  pathless  destiny ; 

Whose  dark  resorts  since  prudence  cannot  know, 
In  vain  it  would  provide  for  what  shall  be. 

But  whatever  English  to  the  blest  shall  go, 
And  the  fourth  Harry  or  first  Orange  meet ; 

Find  him  disowning  of  a  Bourbon  foe, 
And  him  detesting  a  Batavian  fleet. 

Now  on  their  coasts  our  conquering  navy  rides. 
Waylays  their  merchants,  and  their  land  besets  ; 

Each  day  new  wealth  without  their  care  provides  ; 
They  lie  asleep  with  prizes  in  their  nets. 

So,  close  behind  some  promontory  lie 

The  huge  leviathans  to  attend  their  prey  ; 

And  give  no  chace,  but  swallow  in  the  fry. 

Which  through  their  gaping  jaws  mistake  the  way. 

Nor  was  this  all ;  in  ports  and  roads  remote. 
Destructive  fires  among  whole  fleets  we  send ; 

Triumphant  flames  upon  the  water  float. 

And  out-bound  ships  at  home  their  voyage  end. 

Those  various  squadrons,  variously  design'd. 
Each  vessel  freighted  with  a  several  load, 

Each  squadron  waiting  for  a  several  wind. 
All  find  but  one,  to  bum  them  in  the  road. 

Some  bound  for  Guinea,  golden  sand  to  find. 
Bore  ail  the  gauds  the  simple  natives  wear : 

Some,  for  the  pride  of  Turkish  courts  design'd, 
For  folded  turbans  finest  Holland  bear. 

Some  EngUsh  wool,  vex'd  in  a  Belgian  loom. 
And  into  cloth  of  spongy  softness  made, 

Did  into  France  or  colder  Denmark  doom. 
To  ruin  with  worse  ware  our  staple  trade. 

Our  greedy  seamen  rummage  eveiy  hold. 
Smile  on  the  booty  of  each  wealthier  chest ; 

And,  as  the  priests  who  with  their  gods  make  bold. 
Take  what  %ey  like,  and  sacrifice  the  rest. 

But  ah  !  how  insincere  are  all  our  joys  ! 

Which  sent  from  heaven,  Uke  lightning  make  no  stay : 
Their  palling  taste  the  journey's  length  destroys, 

Or  grief,  jent  post,  o'ertakes  them  on  the  way. 


ANNUS   MIRABILIS.  65 

Swell'd  with  our  late  successes  on  the  foe, 

Which  France  and  Holland  wanted  power  to  cross,  J 

We  urge  an  unseen  fate  to  lay  us  low, 

And  feed  their  envious  eyes  with  English  loss. 

Each  element  his  dread  command  obeys. 

Who  makes  or  ruins  with  a  smile  or  frown  ; 
Who,  as  by  one  he  did  our  nation  raise, 

So  now  he  with  another  pulls  us  down. 

Yet,  London,  empress  of  the  northern  chme, 

By  an  high  fate  thou  greatly  didst  expire  ; 
Great  as  the  world's,  which  at  the  death  of  time 

Must  fall,  and  rise  a  nobler  frame  by  fire  ! 

As  when  some  dire  usurpler  heaven  provides. 

To  scourge  his  country  with  a  lawless  sway ; 
His  birth,  perhaps,  some  petty  village  hides, 

And  sets  his  cradle  out  of  fortune's  way. 

Till  fully  ripe  his  swelHng  fate  breaks  out, 

And  hurries  him  to  mighty  mischiefs  on  ; 
His  prince  surprised  at  first  no  ill  could  doubt. 

And  wants  the  power  to  meet  it  when  'tis  known. 

Such  was  the  rise  of  this  prodigious  fir©. 

Which,  in  mean  buildings  first  obscurely  bred, 
From  thence  did  soon  to  open  streets  aspire, 

And  straight  to  palaces  and  temples  spread. 

The  diligence  of  trades  and  noisefiil  gain, 

And  luxury  more  late,  asleep  were  laid  : 
All  was  the  night's  ;  and  in  her  silent  reign 

No  sound  the  rest  of  nature  did  invade. 

In  this  deep  quiet,  from  what  source  unknown. 

Those  seeds  of  fire  their  fatal  birth  disclose  ; 
And  first  few  scattering  sparks  about  were  blown, 

Big  with  the  flames  that  to  our  ruin  rose. 

Then  in  some  close-pent  room  it  crept  along. 

And  smouldering  as  it  went,  in  silence  fed  ; 
Till  the  infant  monster,  with  devouring  strong, 

Walk'd  boldly  upright  with  exalted  head. 

Now  like  some  rich  or  mighty  murderer,  I 

Too  great  for  prison,  which  he  breaks  with  gold ; 

Who  fresher  for  new  mischiefs  does  appear. 
And  dares  the  world  to  tax  him  with  the  old : 


I 


66  ,  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

So  'scapes  the  insulting  fire  his  narrow  jail, 
And  makes  small  outlets  into  open  air  : 

There  the  fierce  winds  his  tender  force  assail, 
And  beat  him  downward  to  his  first  repair. 

The  winds,  like  crafty  courtezans,  withheld 

His  flames  from  burning,  but  to  blow  them  more; 

And  every  fresh  attempt  he  is  repell'd 
With  faint  denials  weaker  than  before. 

And  now,  no  longer  letted  of  his  prey, 
He  leaps  up  at  it  with  enraged  desire : 

O'erlooks  the  neighbours  with  a  wide  survey, 
And  nods  at  every  house  his  threatening  fire. 

The  ghosts  of  traitors  from  the  bridge  descend, 
With  bold  fanatick  spectres  to  rejoice  : 

About  the  fire  into  a  dance  they  bend, 
And  sing  their  sabbath  notes  with  feeble  voice. 

Our  guardian  angel  saw  them  where  they  sate 
Above  the  palace  of  our  slumbering  king  ; 

He  sigh'd,  abandoning  his  charge  to  fate. 

And,  drooping,  oft  looked  back  upon  the  wing. 

At  length  the  crackling  noise  and  dreadful  blaze 
Call  d  up  some  waking  lover  to  the  sight ; 

Ami  long  it  was  ere  he  the  rest  could  raise. 
Whose  heavy  eyehds  yet  were  full  of  night. 

The  next  to  danger,  hot  pursued  by  fate, 
Half-cloth'd,  half-naked,  hastily  retire  : 

And  frighted  mothers  strike  their  breasts  too  late, 
For  helpless  infants  left  amidst  the  fire. 

Their  cries  soon  waken  all  the  dwellers  near  ; 

Now  murmuring  noises  rise  in  every  street ; 
The  more  remote  run  stumbling  with  their  fear. 

And  in  the  dark  men  justle  as  they  meet. 

So  weary  bees  in  little  cells  repose  ; 

But  if  night-robbers  lift  the  well-stored  hive. 
An  humming  through  their  waxen  city  grows,. 

And  out  upon  each  other's  wings  they  drive. 

Now  streets  grow  throng'd  and  busy  as  by  day : 
Some  run  for  buckets  to  the  hallowed  quire  : 

Some  cut  the  pipes,  and  some  the  engines  play  ; 
And  some  more  bold  mount  ladders  to  the  fire. 


ANNUS   MIRABILK.  57 

In  vain  :  for  from  the  East  a  Belgian  wind 

His  hostile  breath  through  the  dry  rafters  sent ;         "'  !2.  ^'y 
The  flames  impell'd  soon  left  their  foes  behind,  J^'^t^ 

And  forward  with  a  wanton  fury  went. 

A  key  of  fire  ran  all  along  the  shore, 

And  lighten'd  all  the  river  with  a  blaze  : 
The  waken'd  tides  began  again  to  roar, 

And  wondering  fish  in  shining  waters  gaze. 

Old  father  Thames  raised  up  his  reverend  head, 

But  fear'd  the  fate  of  Simois  would  return  : 
Deep  in  his  ooze  he  sought  his  sedgy  bed, 

And  shrunk  his  waters  back  into  his  urn. 

The  fire,  mean  time,  walks  in  a  broader  gross  ; 

To  either  hand  his  wings  he  opens  wide  : 
He  wades  the  streets,  and  straight  he  reaches  cross, 

And  plays  his  longing  flames  on  th'  other  side. 

At  first  they  warm,  then  scorch,  and  then  they  take  ; 

Now  with  long  necks  from  side  to  side  they  feed  : 
At  length,  grown  strong,  their  mother-fire  forsake, 

And  a  new  colony  of  flames  succeed. 

To  every  nobler  portion  of  the  town 

The  curling  billows  roll  their  restless  tide  : 
In  parties  now  they  straggle  up  and  down. 

As  armies,  unopposed,  for  prey  divide. 

One  mighty  squadron  with  a  side-wind  sped, 

Through  narrow  lanes  his  cumber'd  fire  does  haste, 

By  powerful  charms  of  gold  and  silver  led. 

The  Lombard  bankers  and  the  'Change  to  waste. 

Another  backward  to  the  Tower  would  go. 

And  slowly  eats  his  way  against  the  wind : 
But  the  main  body  of  the  marching  foe 

Against  th'  imperial  palace  is  design'd. 

Now  day  appears,  and  with  the  day  the  king. 

Whose  early  care  had  robb'd  him  of  his  rest : 
Far  off  the  cracks  of  falling  houses  ring. 

And  shrieks  of  subjects  pierce  his  tender  breast. 

Near  as  he  draws,  thick  harbingers  of  smoke 
•  With  gloomy  pillars  cover  all  the  place  ; 
Whose  little  intervals  of  night  are  bioke 
By  sparks,  that  drive  against  his  sacred  face. 


58  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

More  than  his  guards  his  sorrows  made  him  known, 
And  pious  tears  which  down  his  cheeks  did  shower 

The  wretched  in  his  grief  forgot  their  own  ; 
So  much  the  pity  of  a  king  has  power. 

He  wept  the  flames  of  what  ho  loved  so  well, 
And  what  so  well  had  merited  his  love  : 

For  never  prince  in  grace  did  more  excel, 
Or  royal  city  more  in  duty  strove. 

Nor  with  an  idle  care  did  he  behold  : 

Subjects  may  grieve,  but  monarchs  must  redress  ; 
H.e  cheers  the  fearful  and  commends  the  bold, 

And  makes  despairers  hope  for  good  success. 

Himself  directs  what  first  is  to  be  done, 

And  orders  all  the  succours  which  they  bring : 

The  helpful  and  the  good  about  him  run, 
And  form  an  army  worthy  such  a  king. 

He  sees  the  dire  contagion  spread  so  fast. 

That  where  it  seizes,  all  relief  is  vain : 
And  therefore  must  unwillingly  lay  waste 

That  coimtry,  which  would  else  the  foe  maintain. 

The  powder  blows  up  all  before  the  fire  : 

Th'  amazed  flames  stand  gathered  on  a  heap  ; 

And  from  the  precipice's  brink  retire. 
Afraid  to  venture  on  so  large  a  leap. 

Thus  fighting  fires  awhile  themselves  consume, 
But  straight  like  Turks,  forced  on  to  win  or  die, 

They  first  lay  tender  bridges  of  their  fume, 
And  o'er  the  breach  in  unctuous  vapours  fly. 

Part  stays  for  passage,  till  a  gust  of  wind 
Ships  o'er  their  forces  in  a  shining  sheet : 

Part  creeping  under  ground  their  journey  blind. 
And  climbing  from  below  their  fellows  meet. 

Thus  to  some  desert  plain,  or  old  wood-side, 

Dire  night-hags  come  from  far  to  dance  their  round  ; 

And  o'er  broad  rivers  on  their  fiends  they  ride. 
Or  sweep  in  clouds  above  the  blasted  ground. 

No  help  avails  :  for,  hydra-like,  the  fire 

Lifts  up  his  hundred  heads  to  aim  his  way : 
,  And  scarce  the  wealthy  can  one  half  retire, 
Before  he  rushes  in  to  share  the  prey. 


Charles  II.  at  the  Fire  of  London. 


"  Himself  directs  what  first  is  to  be  done, 
And  orders  ail  the  succours  which  they  bring." 


p.  53. 


I    UNIVERSITY 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  59 

The  ricli  grow  suppliant,  and  the  poor  grow  proud :   ; 

Those  offer  mighty  gain,  and  these  ask  more :         \p  ^     X,? 
So  void  of  pity  is  the  ignoble  crowd,  j^ 

When  others'  ruin  may  increase  their  store.  J 

As  those,  who  live  by  shores,  with  joy  behold 

Some  wealthy  vessel  spUt  or  stranded  nigh ; 
And  from  the  rocks  leap  down  for  shipwreck'd  gold. 

And  seek  the  tempest  which  the  others  fly : 

So  these  but  wait  the  owner's  last  despair, 

And  what's  permitted  to  the  flames  invade ; 
Ev'n  from  their  jaws  they  hungry  irmrsels  tear, 

And  on  their  backs  the  spoils  of  Vulcan  lade. 

The  days  were  all  in  this  lost  labour  spent ; 

And  when  the  weary  king  gave  place  to  night, 
His  beams  he  to  his  royal  brother  lent. 

And  so  shone  still  in  his  reflective  light. 

Light  came,  but  without  darkness  or  repose, 

A  dismal  picture  of  the  general  doom  ; 
Where  souls  distracted  when  the  trumpet  blows, 

And  half  unready  with  their  bodies  come. 

Those  who  havo  homes,  when  home  they  do  repair, 

To  a  last  lodging  call  their  wandering  friends : 
Their  short  uneasy  sleeps  are  broke  with  care. 

To  look  how  near  their  own  destruction  tends. 

Those  who  have  none,  sit  round  where  once  it  was. 

And  with  full  eyes  each  wonted  room  recjuire : 
Haunting  the  yet  warm  ashes  of  the  place, 

As  murder'd  men  walk  where  they  did  expire. 

Some  stir  up  coals  and  watch  the  vestal  fire, 

Others  in  vain  from  sight  of  ruin  nm ; 
And  while  through  burning  labyrinths  they  retire, 

With  loathing  eyes  repeat  what  they  would  shun. 

The  most  in  fields  like  herded  beasts  lie  down, 

To  dews  obnoxious  on  the  grassy  floor ; 
And  while  their  babes  in  sleep  their  sorrows  drown, 

Sad  parents  watch  the  remnants  of  their  store. 

While  by  the  motion  of  the  flames  they  guess 
What  streets  are  burning  now,  and  what  are  near, 

An  infant  waking  to  the  paps  would  press, 
And  meets  instead  of  milk,  a  falling  tear. 


0' 


t 


0  ANNUS   MIRABILIS. 

No  thought  can  ease  them  but  their  sovereign's  care, 
Whose  praise  the  afflicted  as  their  comfort  sing. 

E'en  those  whom  want  might  drive  to  just  despair, 
Think  life  a  blessing  under  such  a  king. 

Meantime  he  sadly  suffers  in  their  grief, 

Out-weeps  an  hermit,  and  out-prays  a  saint: 

All  the  night  long  he  studies  their  relief, 

How  they  may  be  supplied,  and  he  may  want. 

"  0  God,"  said  he,  "  thou  patron  of  my  days, 
Guide  of  my  youth  in  exile  and  distress  ! 

Who  me  unfriended  brought  by  wond'rous  ways, 
The  kingdom  of  my  fathers  to  possess : 

"  Be  thou  my  judge,  with  what  unwearied  care 
I  since  have  labour'd  for  my  people's  good ; 

•Po  bind  the  bruises  of  a  civil  war. 

And  stop  the  issues  of  their  wasting  blood. 

**  Thou,  who  hast  taught  me  to  forgive  the  ill,    • 
And  recompense,  as  friends,  the  good  misled : 

If  mercy  be  a  precept  of  thy  will. 
Return  that  mercy  on  thy  servant's  head. 

"  Oi^  if  my  heedless  youth  has  stept  astray, 
Too  soon  forgetful  of  thy  gracious  hand ; 

On  me  alone  thy  just  displeasure  lay. 
But  take  thy  judgments  from  this  mourning  land. 

"  Wfe  all  have  sinn'd,  and  thou  hast  laid  us  low, 
As  humlMe  earth  from  whence  at  first  we  came : 

Like  flying  shades  before  the  clouds  we  show. 
And  shrink  like  parchment  in  consuming  flame. 

"  O  let  it  be  enough  what  thou  hast  done  ; 

When  spotted  deaths  ran  arm'd  through  every  street, 
With  poison'd  darts  which  not  the  good  could  shun, 

The  speedy  could  out-fly,  or  valiant  meet. 

"  The  living  few,  and  frequent  funerals  then, 
Proclaim'd  thy  wrath  on  this  forsaken  place : 

And  now  those  few,  who  are  returned  again. 

Thy  searching  judgments  to  their  dwellings  trace. 

"  0  pass  not,  Lord,  an  absolute  decree, 

Or  bind  thy  sentence  unconditional : 
But  in  thy  sentence  our  remorse  foresee. 

And  in  that  foresight  this  thy  doom  recaL 


V 


^     OF  THE 


C/,: 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  61 


"Thy  threatenings,  Lord,  as  thine  thou  mayst  revoke: 

But,  if  immutable  and  fix'd  they  stand,  -^    ^  {^ 

Continue  still  thyself  to  give  the  stroke,  ; .  -    ^ 

And  let  not  foreign  foes  oppress  thy  land." 

The  Eternal  heard,  and  from  the  heavenly  quire 
Chose  out  the  cherub  with  the  flaming  sword ; 

And  bade  him  swiftly  drive  th'  approaching  fire 
From  where  our  naval  magazines  were  stored. 

The  blessed  minister  his  wings  display'd, 

And  like  a  shooting  star  he  cleft  the  night : 
He  charged  the  flames,  and  those  that  disobey'd 

He  lash'd  to  duty  with  his  sword  of  light. 

The  fugitive  flames,  chastised,  went  forth  to  prey 

On  pious  structures,  by  our  fathers  rear'd  ; 
By  which  to  heaven  they  did  affect  the  way, 

Ere  faith  in  churchmen  without  works  was  heard. 

The  wanting  orphans  saw  with  watery  eyes 

Their  founders'  charity  in  dust  laid  low  ; 
And  sent  to  God  their  ever-answer'd  cries. 

For  he  protects  the  poor  who  made  them  so. 

Nor  could  thy  fabric,  Paul,  defend  thee  long. 

Though  thou  wert  sacred  to  thy  Maker's  prai*3e  : 

Though  made  immortal  by  a  poet's  song  ; 

And  poets'  songs  the  Theban  walls  could  raise. 

The  daring  flames  peep'd  in,  and  saw  from  far 

The  awful  beauties  of  the  sacred  quire  : 
But,  since  it  was  profaned  by  civil  war. 

Heaven  thought  it  fit  to  have  it  purged  by  fire. 

Now  down  the  narrow  streets  it  swiftly  came, 

And  widely  opening  did  on  both  sides  prey  : 
iTiis  benefit  we  sadly  owe  the  flame. 

If  only  ruin  must  enlarge  our  way. 

And  now  four  days  the  sun  had  seen  our  woes : 
Four  nights  the  moon  beheld  th'  incessant  fire  : 

It  seem'd  as  if  the  stars  more  sickly  rose, 
And  farther  from  the  feverish  north  retire. 

In  the  empyrean  heaven,  the  bless'd  abode, 

The  thrones  and  the  dominions  prostrate  lie. 
Not  daring  to  behold  their  angi*y  God  ; 

And  an  hush'd  silence  damps  the  tuneful  sky. 


2  ANNUS  MIRABILIS. 

At  length  the  Almighty  cast  a  pitying  eye, 
And  mercy  softly  touch'd  his  melting  breast : 

He  saw  the  town's  one  half  in  rubbish  lie, 
And  eager  flames  drive  on  to  storm  the  rest. 

An  hoUow  crystal  pyramid  he  takes. 

In  firmamental  waters  dipt  above  ; 
Of  it  a  broad  extinguisher  he  makes, 

And  hoods  the  flames  that  to  their  quarry  strove. 

The  vanquish'd  fires  withdraw  from  every  place, 

Or  full  with  feeding  sink  into  a  sleep  : 
Each  household  genius  shows  again  his  face. 

And  from  the  earth  the  Httle  lares  creep. 

Our  king  this  more  than  natural  change  beholds  j 
With  sober  joy  his  heart  and  eyes  abound  : 

To  the  All-good  his  lifted  hands  he  folds. 

And  thanks  him  low  on  his  redeemed  ground. 

As  when  sharp  frosts  had  long-constrain'd  the  earth, 
A  kindly  thaw  unlocks  it  with  mild  rain ; 

And  first  the  tender  blade  peeps  up  to  birth. 

And  straight  the  green  fields  laugh  with  promised  grain: 

By  such  degrees  the  spreading  gladness  grew 
In  every  heart  which  fear  had  froze  before  : 

The  standing  streets  with  so  much  joy  they  view. 
That  with  less  grief  the  perish'd  they  deplore. 

The  father  of  the  people  open'd  wide 

His  stores,  and  all  the  poor  with  plenty  fed  ; 

Thus  God's  anointed  God's  own  place  supplied. 
And  fiU'd  the  empty  with  his  daily  bread. 

This  royal  bounty  brought  its  own  reward. 

And  in  their  minds  so  deep  did  print  the  sense, 

That  if  their  ruins  sadly  they  regard, 

'Tis  but  with  fear  the  sight  might  drive  him  thence. 

But  so  may  he  live  long,  that  town  to  sway. 
Which  by  his  auspice  they  will  nobler  make. 

As  he  will  hatch  their  ashes  by  his  stay. 
And  not  their  humble  ruins  now  forsake. 

They  have  not  lost  their  loyalty  by  fire ; 

Nor  is  their  courage  or  their  wealth  so  low, 
That  from  his  wars  they  poorly  would  retire, 

Or  beg  the  pity  of  a  vanquish'd  foe. 


ANNUS  MILABILIS.  63 

Not  with  more  constancy  the  Jews  of  old,      ^ 

By  Cyrus  from  rewarded  exile  sent, 
Their  royal  city  did  in  dust  behold, 

Or  with  more  vigour  to  rebuild  it  went. 

The  utmost  malice  of  their  stars  is  past, 

And  two  dire  comets,  which  have  scourged  the  town, 
In  their  own  plague  and  fire  have  breath'd  their  last, 

Or  dimly  in  their  sinking  sockets  frown. 

Now  frequent  trines  the  happier  lights  among, 
And  high-raised  Jove,  from  his  dark  prison  freed. 

Those  weights  took  off  that  on  his  plan'et  hung. 
Will  gloriously  the  new-laid  work  succeed. 

Methinks  already,  from  his  chymic  flame, 

I  see  a  city  of  more  precious  mould : 
Kich  as  the  town  which  gives  the  Indies  name. 

With  silver  paved,  and  all  divine  with  gold. 

Already,  labouring  with  a  mighty  fate, 

She  shakes  the  rubbish  from  her  mounting  brow. 

And  seems  to  have  renew'd  her  charter's  date. 
Which  heaven  will  to  the  death  of  time  allow. 

More  great  than  human  now,  and  more  august, 
Now  deified  she  from  her  fires  does  rise : 

Her  widening  streets  on  new  foundations  trust, 
And,  opening,  into  larger  parts  she  flies. 

Before,  she  like  some  shepherdess  did  show. 

Who  sat  to  bathe  her  by  a  river's  side ; 
Not  answering  to  her  fame,  but  rude  and  low. 

Nor  taught  the  beauteous  arts  of  modem  pride. 

Now,  like  a  maiden  queen,  she  will  behold. 
From  her  high  turrets,  hourly  suitors  come : 

The  East  with  incense,  and  the  West  with  gold, 
Will  stand,  like  suppliants,  to  receive  her  doom. 

The  silver  Thames,  her  own  domestic  flood, 
Shall  bear  her  vessels  like  a  sweeping  train ; 

And  often  wind,  as  of  his  mistress  proud, 
With  longing  eyes  to  meet  her  face  again. 

The  wealthy  Tagus,  and  the  wealthier  Khine, 
The  glory  of  their  towns  no  more  shall  boast, 

And  Seine,  that  would  with  Belgian  rivers  join, 
Shall  find  her  lustre  stain'd,  and  traf&c  lost. 


64  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

The  venturous  merchant  who  design'd  more  far, 
And  touches  on  our  hospitable  shore, 

Charm'd  with  the  splendour  of  this  northern  star, 
Shall  here  unlade  him,  and  depart  no  more. 

Our  powerful  navy  shall  no  longer  meet. 
The  wealth  of  France  or  Holland  to  invade : 

The  beauty  of  this  town,  without  a  fleet, 
From  all  the  world  shall  vindicate  her  trade. 

And,  while  this  famed  emporium  we  prepare, 
The  British  ocean  shall  such  triumph*  boast, 

That  those  who  now  disdain  our  trad-e  to  share, 
Shall  rob  like  pirates  on  our  wealthy  coast. 

Already  we  have  conquer'd  half  the  war, 
And  the  less  dangerous  part  is  left  behind : 

Our  trouble  now  is  but  to  make  them  dare, 
And  not  so  great  to  vanquish  as  to  find. 

Thus  to  the  eastern  wealth  through  storms  we  go. 
But  now,  the  Cape  once  doubled,  fear  no  more ; 

A  constant  trade-wind  will  securely  blow, 
And  gently  lay  us  on  the  spicy  shore.  • 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 
PART  L 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL :  A  POEM  PUBLISHED 

1681. 

*"•  THE   OCCASION   OF  IT   EXPLAINED. 


The  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  seemed  bent  upon  the  ruin  of  the  Duke 
of  York.  It  was  mostly  through  his  influence  in  both  houses 
that  those  infamous  witnesses,  Oates,  Tongue,  Bedloe,  &c.  were 
so  strenuously  encouraged,  and  the  Popish  Plot,  if  not  schemed  by 
him,  was  at  least  cherished  by  him  and  supported.  He  had  been 
heard  to  say,  with  some  exultation,  /  wont  pretend  to  pronounce 
who  sta/rted  the  game,  but  I  am  sure  I  have  had  the  full  hunting. 
At  this  day  that  plot  appears,  to  impartial  and  discerning  eyes, 
to  hare  been  a  forgery  contrived  to  inflame  the  minds  of  the 


THE  OCCASION  OF  IT  EXPLAINED.  65 

people  against  popery,  a  religion  now  professed  by  the  duke, 
that  the  bill  for  excluding  him  from  the  throne  might  meet  with 
more  countenance  and  greater  certainty  of  success ;  and  it  went 
very  near  having  the  desired  effect. 

The  indiscreet  zeal  and  imprudent  conduct  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,  for  some  time  past,  had  given  too  much  room  for 
suspicion ;  they  having  often  openly,  and  in  defiance  of  the 
established  laws  of  the  kingdom,  shown  a  thorough  contempt 
for  the  established  religion  of  their  country,  propagated  as 
much  as  possible  their  own  tenets,  loudly  triumphed  in  their 
progress,  and  daily  acquisition  of  proselytes  among  all  ranks  of 
people,  without  the  least  secrecy  or  caution.  Hence  was  the 
nation  ripe  for  alarm  ;  when  given  it  spread  like  wildfire ;  and 
the  Duke  of  York,  as  head  of  the  party  at  which  it  was  aimed, 
was  obliged  to  withdraw  to  Brussels,  to  avoid  the  impending 
storm. 

The  king  being  some  time  after  taken  ill,  produced  his  high- 
ness's  sudden  return,  before  his  enemies,  and  those  in  the  opposi- 
tion to  the  court-measures,  could  provide  for  his  reception  ;  so 
that  their  schemes  were  thus  for  a  while  disconcerted.  Lest  his 
presence  might  revive  commotion,  he  returned  again  to  Brussels, 
and  was  then  permitted  (previously)  to  retire  to  Scotland,  having 
received  the  strongest  assurances  of  his  brother's  afiection,  and 
resolution  to  secure  him  and  his  heirs  the  succession.  He  had 
before  this  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  turbulent  Earl  of 
Shaftesbury  removed  from  his  seat  and  precedence  in  the  privy 
council,  as  well  as  all  share  in  the  ministry ;  and  now  prevailed 
to  have  the  Duke  of  Monmouth  dismissed  from  all  his  posts,  and 
sent  into  Holland. 

Shaftesbury's  views  were  to  lift  Monmouth  to  the  throne, 
whose  weaknesses  he  knew  he  could  so  effectually  manage,  as  to 
have  the  reins  of  government  in  that  case  in  his  own  hands. 
Monmouth  was  the  eldest  of  the  king's  sons,  by  whom  he  was 
tenderly  beloved.  His  mother  was  one  Mrs.  Lucy  Walters, 
otherwise  Barlow,  a  Pembrokeshire  woman,  who  bore  him  at 
Rotterdam,  in  1649,  and  between  whom  and  his  Majesty  it  was 
artfully  reported,  there  had  passed  a  contract  of  marriage.  This 
report  was  narrowly  examined  into,  and  proved  false,  to  the 
full  satisfaction  of  the  privy-council,  and  of  the  people  in  gene- 
ral, though  Shaftesbury  did  all  in  his  power  to  support  and 
establish  a  belief  of  its  reality.  The  youth  was  educated  at  Paris, 
under  the  queen-mother,  and  brought  over  to  England  in  1662  : 
soon  after  which  time  he  was  created  Duke  of  Orkney,  in  Scot- 
land, and  Monmouth  in  England,  or  rather  Wales ;  chosen  a 
Knight  of  the  Garter ;  appointed  Master  of  Horse  to  his  Majesty, 
General  of  the  land  forces,  Colonel  of  the  life-guard  of  horse. 
Lord-lieutenant  of  the  East  Riding  of  Yorkshire,  Governor  of 
Kingston-upon-HuU,  Chief  Justice  in  Eyre  on  the  south  of  the 


66  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

river  Trent,  Lord  Chamberlain  of  Scotland,  and  Duke  of  Bac- 
cleugh,  in  right  of  his  wife,  who  was  daughter  and  heiress  to  a 
noble  and  wealthy  earl,  bearing  that  name ;  but  he  lost  all  those 
places  of  honour  and  foi-tune,  together  with  his  royal  father's 
favour,  by  the  insinuation  and  art  of  Shaftesbury,  who  poisoned 
him  with  illegal  and  ambitious  notions,  that  ended  in  his 
destruction. 

The  partisans  of  this  earl,  and  other  malcontents,  had  long 
pointed  out  his  Grace  as  a  proper  successor  to  the  crown,  instead 
of  the  Duke  of  York,  in  case  of  the  king's  demise ;  and  he  began 
to  believe  that  he  had  a  real  right  to  be  so.  At  the  instigation 
of  his  old  friend,  Shaftesbury,  he  returned  to  England  without 
his  father's  consent,  who  would  not  see  him ;  and,  instead  of 
obeying  the  royal  mandate  to  retire  again,  he  and  Shaftesbury^ 
jointly  made  a  pompous  parade  through  several  counties  in  the. 
west  and  north  of  England,  scattering  the  seeds  of  discord  and; 
disaffection ;  so  that  their  designs  seemed  to  be  levelled  against 
the  government,  and  a  tempest  was  gathering  at  a  distance,  not 
unlike  that  which  swept  the  royal  martyr  from  his  throne  and 
life.  Many  people,  who  would  not  otherwise  have  taken  part 
with  the  court,  shuddering  when  they  looked  back  upon  the 
scenes  of  anarchy  and  confusion  that  had  followed  that  melan- 
choly catastrophe,  in  order  to  prevent  the  return  of  a  similar 
storm,  attached  themselves  to  the  king  and  the  Duke  of  York ; 
and  the  latter  returned  to  court,  where  he  kept  his  ground. 

The  kingdom  was  now  in  a  high  fermentation  ;  the  murmurs 
of  each  party  broke  out  into  altercation  and  declamatory  abuse. 
Every  day  produced  new  libels  and  disloyal  pamphlets.  To 
answer  and  expose  them,  their  partisans  and  abettors,  several 
authors  were  retained  by  authority,  but  none  came  up  to  the 
purpose  so  well  as  Sir  Roger  I'Estrange,  in  the  Observator ;  and 
the  poet  laureat,  in  the  poem  under  inspection,  the  elegance  and 
severity  of  which  raised  his  character  prodigiously,  and  showed 
the  proceedings  of  Shaftesbury  and  his  followers  in  a  most 
severe  light.  These  writings,  according  to  Echard,  in  a  great 
measure  stemmed  the  tide  of  a  popular  current,  that  might 
have  otherwise  immersed  the  nation  in  ruin.  His  Grace  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth  afterwards  engaged  in  the  Ryehouse 
Plot,  and  a  reward  was  offered  for  the  taking  him,  both  by 
his  father  and  Lewis  XIV.,  whether  in  England  or  France. 
He  obtained  his  pardon  both  of  the  king  and  duke,  by  two 
very  submissive,  nay  abject  letters;  and  being  admitted  to 
the  royal  prei«nce,  seemed  extremely  sorry  for  his  past  offences, 
confessed  his  having  engaged  in  a  design  for  seizing  the  king's 
guards,  and  changing  the  government,  but  denied  having  any 
knowledge  of  a  scheme  for  assassinating  either  his  father  or  uncle, 
which  it  seems  was  set  on  foot  by  the  inferior  ministers  of  this 
conspiracy. 


TO  THE  READER.  67 

Presuming,  however,  upon  the  king's  paternal  affection,  he 
soon  recanted  hia  confession,  and  consorted  with  his  old  fol- 
lowers ;  so  that  the  king  forbid  him  the  court,  and  he  retired  to 
Holland,  from  whence  he  returned  in  1685,  raised  a  rebellion 
against  his  uncle,  then  on  the  throne,  caused  himself  to  be 
proclaimed  king,  and  being  defeated  and  taken  prisoner,  waa 
beheaded  on  Tower  Hill,  in  his  thirty-sixth  year. — Debrick. 


TO  THE  READER. 

*Tis  not  my  intention  to  make  an  apology  for  my  poem  :  some 
will  think  it  needs  no  excuse,  and  others  will  receive  none.  The 
design  I  am  sure  is  honest ;  but  he  who  draws  his  pen  for  one 
party,  must  expect  to  make  enemies  of  the  other.  For  wit  and 
fool  are  consequents  of  Whig  and  Tory ;  and  every  man  is  a 
knave  or  an  ass  to  the  contrary  side.  There  is  a  treasury  of 
merits  in  the  Fanatic  Church,  as  well  as  in  the  Popish ;  and  a 
pennyworth  to  be  had  of  saintship,  honesty,  and  poetry,  for  the 
lewd,  the  factious,  and  the  blockheads  :  but  the  longest  chapter 
in  Deuteronomy  has  not  curses  enough  for  an  Anti-Bromingham. 
My  comfort  is,  their  manifest  prejudice  to  my  cause  will  render 
their  judgment  of  less  authority  against  me.  Yet  if  a  poem 
have  a  genius,  it  will  force  its  own  reception  in  the  world.  For 
there  's  a  sweetness  in  good  verse,  which  tickles  even  while  it 
hurts ;  and  no  man  can  be  heartily  angry  with  him  who  pleases 
him  against  his  will.  The  commendation  of  adversaries  is  the 
greatest  triumph  of  a  writer,  because  it  never  comes  unless 
extorted.  But  I  can  be  satisfied  on  more  easy  terms  :  if  I  happen 
to  please  the  more  moderate  sort,  I  shall  be  sure  of  an  honest 
party,  and,  in  all  probability,  of  the  best  judges ;  for  the  least 
concerned  are  commonly  the  least  corrupt.  And  I  confess  I 
have  laid  in  for  those,  by  rebating  the  satire  (where  justice 
would  allow  it),  from  carrying  too  sharp  an  edge.  They,  who 
can  criticise  so  weakly  as  to  imagine  I  have  done  my  worst,  may 
be  convinced,  at  their  own  cost,  that  I  can  write  severely,  with 
more  ease,  than  I  can  gently.  I  have  but  laughed  at  some  men's 
follies,  when  I  could  have  declaimed  against  their  vices ;  and 
other  men's  virtues  I  have  commended,  as  freely  as  I  have  taxed 
their  crimes.  And  now,  if  you  are  a  malicious  reader,  I  expect 
you  should  return  upon  me  that  I  affect  to  be  thought  more 
impariy,al  than  I  am.  But  if  men  are  not  to  be  judged  by  their 
professions,  God  forgive  you  Commonwealth's-men  for  profess- 
ing so  plausibly  for  the  government.  You  cannot  be  so  uncon- 
scionable as  to  charge  me  for  not  subscribing  of  my  name ;  for 
that  would  reflect  too  grossly  upon  your  own  party,  who  never 


68  ABSALOy   AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

dare,  thougli  they  have  the  advantage  of  a  jury  to  secure  them. 
If  you  like  not  my  poem,  the  fault  may,  possibly,  be  in  ray 
writing  (though  'tis  hard  for  an  author  to  judge  against  himself). 
But,  more  probably,  'tis  in  your  morals,  which  cannot  bear  the 
truth  of  it.  The  violent,  on  both  sides,  will  condemn  the  cha- 
racter of  Absalom,  as  either  too  favourably  or  too  hardly  drawn. 
But  they  are  not  the  violent  whom  I  desire  to  please.  The  fault 
on  the  right  hand  is  to  extenuate,  palliate,  arfd  indulge  ;  and,  to 
confess  freely,  I  have  endeavoured  to  commit  it.  Besides  the 
respect  which  I  owe  his  birth,  I  have  a  greater  for  his  heroic 
virtues ;  and  David  himself  could  not  be  more  tender  of  the 
young  man's  life,  than  I  would  be  of  his  reputation.  But  since 
the  most  excellent  natures  are  always  the  most  ea^,  and,  as 
being  such,  are  the  soonest  perverted  by  ill  counsels,  especially 
when  baited  with  fame  and  glory ;  'tis  no  more  a  wonder  that 
he  withstood  not  the  temptations  of  Achitophel,  than  it  was  for 
Adam  not  to  have  resisted  the  two  devils,  the  serpent  and  the 
woman.  The  conclusion  of  the  story  I  purposely  forbore  to 
prosecute,  because  I  could  not  obtain  from  myself  to  show 
Absalom  unfortunate.  The  frame  of  it  was  cut  out  but  for 
a  picture  to  the  waist ;  and  if  the  draught  be  so  far  true,  'tis  as 
much  as  I  designed. 

Were  I  the  inventor,  who  am  only  the  historian,  I  should 
certainly  conclude  the  piece  with  the  reconcilement  of  Absalom 
to  David.  And  who  knows  but  this  may  come  to  pass  ?  Things 
were  not  brought  to  an  extremity  where  I  left  the  story :  there 
seems  yet  to  be  room  left  for  a  composure ;  hereafter  there  may 
be  only  for  pity.  I  have  not  so  much  as  an  uncharitable  wish 
against  Achitophel,  but  am  content  to  be  accused  of  a  good- 
natured  error,  and  to  hope  with  Origen,  that  the  devil  himself 
may  at  last  be  saved.  For  which  reason,  in  this  poem,  he  is 
neither  brought  to  set  his  house  in  order,  nor  to  dispose  of  his 
person  afterwards  as  he  in  his  wisdom  shall  think  fit.  God  is 
infinitely  merciful ;  and  his  vicegerent  is  only  not  so,  because 
he  is  not  infinite. 

The  true  end  of  satire  is  the  amendment  of  vices  by  correction. 
And  he  who  writes  honestly,  is  no  more  an  enemy  to  the  offender, 
than  the  physician  to  the  patient,  when  he  prescribes  harsh 
remedies  to  an  inveterate  disease ;  for  those  are  only  in  order  to 
prevent  the  chirurgeon's  work  of  an  Erne  reddendum,  which  I 
wish^  not  to  my  very  enemies.  To  conclude  all ;  if  the  body 
politic  have  any  analogy  to  the  natural,  in  my  weak  judgment, 
an  act  of  oblivion  were  as  necessary  in  a  hot  distempered  state, 
•o6  an  opiate  would  be  in  a  raging  fever.  * 


CHARACTERS  REPRESENTED. 

Abdael,  General  Monk,  Duke  of  Albemarle. 

Abethdik,  The  name  given,  through  this  Poem,  to  a  Lord  Chancellor  m 
Absalom,  Duke  of  Monmouth,  natural  son  of  Charles  II.  [general. 

Achitophel,  The  Ear1  of  Shaftesbury. 
Ad  KIEL,  Earl  of  Mulgrave. 
Agag,  Sir  Edmondbury  Godfrey. 

Amiel,  Sir  Edward  Seymour,  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons 
Amri,  Sir  Heneage  Finch,  Earl  of  Winchelsea,  and  Lord  Chancellor. 
Annabel,  Anne,  Duchess  of  Monmouth. 
Ahod,  Sir  William  Waller. 

As  A  PH,  A  Character  drawn  by  Tate  far  Dry  den,  in  the  Second  Part  of  thisPoem. 
Balaam,  Earl  of  Huntingdon. 
Balak,  Bamet. 
Barzillai,  Duke  of  Ormond. 
Bathsheba,  Duchess  of  Portsmouth. 
B^NAIAH,  General  Sackville 
Ben  Jochanak,  Rev.  Samuel  Johnson. 
Bezaliel,  Duke  of  Beaufort. 
Caleb,  Lord  Grey. 
Corah,  Titus  Gates. 
.s^AViD,  Charles  II. 
DoEG,  Elkanah  Settle,  the  City  Poet. 
Egypt,  France. 

Eliab,  Sir  Henry  Bennet,  Earl  of  Arlington. 
Ethnic  Plot,  the  Popish  Plot. 

Gath,  The  Land  of  Exile,  more  particularly  Brussels,  where  King  Charles  II, 
Hebron,  Scotland.  [long  resided. 

Hebrew  Priksts,  The  Church  of  England  Clergy. 
Hklon,  Earl  of  Feversham. 
Hushai,  Laurence  Hyde,  Earl  of  Rochester. 
Jebusites,  Papists. 
Jerusalkm,  London. 
■  Jews,  English. 

'   Jonas,  Sir  William  Jones,  a  great  Lawyer. 
JoHDAN,  Dover. 
JoTHAM,  Marquis  of  Halifax. 
Jothran,  Lord  Dartmouth. 
^vJsHBosHF.TH,  Richard  Cromwell. 
-Israel,  England. 

Issachar,  Thomas  Thynne,  Esq.  of  Longleat. 

Judas,  Robert  Ferguson,  a  Scotch  Independent  Preacher. 

IsHBAN,  Sir  Robert  Clayton,  a  London  Alderman. 

Mephibosheth,  Pordage. 
-JkliCHAL,  Queen  Catharine. 
'^  Nadab,  Lord  Howard  of  Escrick. 
X)g,  Shadwell,  the  Dramatist. 

Othniel,  Henry,  Duke  of  Grafton. 

Phaleg,  Forbes. 

Pharaoh,  King  of  France. 

Rabshek^,  Sir  Thomas  Player. 

Sagan  of  Jerusalem,  Dr.  Compton,  Bishop  of  London. 

Sanhedrim,  Parliament. 
^■:>Saul,  Oliver  Cromwell, 
''  Shimei,  Slingsby  Bethel,  Sheriff  of  London  in  1680. 

Sheva,  Sir  Roger  L'Estrange. 

SoLYMEAN  Rout,  London  Rebels. 

Tyre,  Holland. 

UzzA,  Jack  Hall. 

Zadoc,  Sancroft,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

Zaken,  a  Member  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
-  ZiMRi,  George  Villiers,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

ZiLOAH,  Sir  John  Moor,  Lord  Mayor  in  1681. 


70 

ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

In  pious  times  ere  priestcraft  did  begin, 

Before  polygamy  was  made  a  sin ;  '^ 

When  man  on  many  multiplied  his  kind, 

Ere  one  to  one  was  cursedly  confined ; 

When  nature  prompted,  and  no  law  denied 

Promiscuous  use  of  concubine  and  bride ; 

Then  Israel's  monarch  after  Heaven's  own  heart, 

His  vigorous  warmth  did  variously  impart 

To  wives  and  slaves ;  and  wide  as  his  command, 

Scatter'd  his  Maker's  image  through  the  land. 

Michal,  of  royal  blood,  the  crown  did  wear ; 

A  soil  ungrateful  to  the  tiller's  care : 

Not  so  the  rest ;  for  several  mothers  bore 

To  god-like  David  several  sons  before : 

But  since  like*^  slaves  his  bed  they  did  ascend. 

No  true  succession  could  their  seed  attend. 

Of  all  this  numerous  progeny  was  none 

So  beautiful,  so  brave,  as  Absalom : 

Whether,  inspired  by  some  diviner  lust, 

His  father  got  him  with  a  greater  gust : 

Or  that  his  conscious  destiny  made  way. 

By  manly  beauty,  to  imperial  sway. 

Early,  in  foreign  fields,  he  won  renown 

With  kings  and  states  allied  to  Israel's  crown : 

In  peace  the  thoughts  of  war  he  could  remove, 

And  seem'd  as  he  were  only  born  for  love. 

Whate'er  he  did,  was  done  with  so  much  ease. 

In  him  alone  'twas  natural  to  please  : 

His  motions  all  accompanied  with  grace ; 

And  paradise  was  open'd  in  his  face. 

With  secret  joy  indulgent  David  view'd 

His  youthful  image  in  his  son  renew'd : 

To  all  his  wishes  nothing  he  denied ; 

And  made  the  charming  Annabel  his  bride. 

What  faults  he  had,  (for  who  from  faults  is  free  ?) 

His  father  could  not,  or  he  would  not  see. 

Some  warm  excesses  which  the  law  forbore, 

Were  construed  youth  that  purged  by  boiling  o'er, 

And  Amnon's  murder,  by  a  specious  name. 

Was  call'd  a  just  revenge  for  injured  fame. 

Thus  praised  and  loved,  the  noble  youth  remained. 

While  David,  undisturbed,  in  Sion  reigned. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  71 

But  life  can  never  be  sincerely  blest : 

Heaven  punishes  the  bad,  and  proves  the  best.    . 

The  Jews,  a  headstrong,  moody,  murmuring  race, 

As  ever  tried  the  extent  and  stretch  of  grace ; 

God's  pamper'd  people,  whom  debauch'd  with  ease, 

No  king  could  govern,  nor  no  God  could  please ; 

(Gods  they  had  tried  of  every  shape  and  size, 

That  god-smiths  could  produce,  or  priests  devise :) 

These  Adam- wits,  too  fortunately  free, 

Began  to  dream  they  wanted  liberty ; 

And  when  no  rule,  no  precedent  was  found, 

Of  men,  by  laws  less  circumscribed  and  bound ; 

They  led  their  wild  desires  to  woods  and  caves, 

And  thought  that  all  but  savages  were  slaves.  .    ^5  // 

They  who,  when  Saul  was  dead,  without  a  blow,  v^a^*---, 

Made  foolish  IshbosEeth  the  crown  forego ; 

Who  banish'd  David  did  from  Hebron  bring, 

And  with  a  general  shout  proclaim'd  him  king : 

Those  very  Jews,  who,  at  their  very  best, 

Their  humour  more  than  loyalty  express' d, 

Now  wonder'd  why  so  long  they  had  obey'd 

An  idol  monarch,  which  their  hands  had  made ; 

Thought  they  might  ruin  him  they  could  create, 

Or  melt  him  to  that  golden  calf,  a  state. 

But  these  were  random  bolts :  no  form'd  design, 

Nor  interest  made  the  factious  crowd  to  join : 

The  sober  part  of  Israel,  free  from  stain,  ;% 

Well  knew  the  value  of  a  peaceful  reign ;  '^| 

And,  looking  backward  with  a  wise  affrighi^ 

Saw  seams  of  wounds  dishonest  to  the  sight: 

In  contemplation  of  whose  ugly  scars, 

They  cursed  the  memory  of  civil  wars. 

The  moderate  sort  of  men  thus  qualified. 

Inclined  the  balance  to  the  better  side ; 

And  David's  mildness  managed  it  so  well. 

The  bad  found  no  occasion  to  rebel. 

But  when  to  sin  our  biass'd  nature  leans, 

The  careful  devil  is  still'  at  hand  with  means ; 

And  providently  pimps  for  ill  desires : 

The  good  old  cause  revived  a  plot  requires. 

Plots,  true  or  false,  are  necessary  things, 

To  raise  up  commonwealths,  and  ruin  kings. 

The  inhabitants  of  old  Jerusalem 
Were  Jebusites ;  the  town  so  call'd  from  them ; 


72  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

And  theirs  the  native  right 

But  when  the  chosen  people  grew  more  strong, 

The  rightful  cause  at  length  became  the  wrong ; 

And  every  loss  the  men  of  Jebus  bore, 

They  still  were  thought  God's  enemies  the  more. 

Thus  worn  or  weaken'd,  well  or  ill  content. 

Submit  they  must  to  JDavid's  government : 

Impoverish'd  and  deprived  of  all  command, 

Their  taxes  doubled  as  they  lost  their  land ; 

And  what  was  harder  yet  to  flesh  and  blood. 

Their  gods  disgraced,  and  burnt  like  common  wood. 

This  set  the  heathen  priesthood  in  a  flame ; 

For  priests  of  all  religions  are  the  same. 

Of  wTiatsoe'er  descent  their  godhead  be, 

Stock,  stone,  or  other  homely  pedigree. 

In  his  defence  his  serv^ants  are  as  bold. 

As  if  he  had  been  born  of  beaten  gold. 

The  Jewish  rabbins,  though  their  enemies. 

In  this  conclude  them  honest  men  and  wise : 

Por  'twas  their  duty,  all  the  learned  think, 

To  espouse  his  cause,  by  whom  they  eat  and  drink. 

From  hence  began  that  plot,  the  nation's  curse, 

Bad  in  itself,  but  represented  worse  ; 

Raised  in  extremes,  and  in  extremes  decried  ; 

"With  oaths  affirm'd,  with  dying  vows  denied  ; 

Not  weigh'd  nor  winnow'd  by  the  multitude  ; 

But  swallowed  in  the  mass,  unchew'd  and  crude. 

Some  truth  there  was,  but  dash'd   and   brew'd  with 

lies, 
To  please  the  fools,  and  puzzle  all  the  wise. 
Succeeding  times  did  equal  folly  call. 
Believing  nothing,  or  believing  "all. 
The  Egyptian  rites  the  Jebusites  embraced ; 
Where  gods  were  recommended  by  their  taste. 
Such  savoury  deities  must  needs  be  good, 
As  served  at  once  for  worship  and  for  food. 
By  force  they  could  not  introduce  these  gods ; 
For  ten  to  one  in  former  days  was  odds. 
So  fraud  was  used,  the  sacrificer's  trade : 
Fools  are  more  hard  to  conquer  than  persuade. 
Their  busy  teachers  mingled  with  the  Jews, 
And  raked  for  converts  even  the  court  and  stews : 
Which  Hebrew  priests  the  more  unkindly  took, 
Because  the  fleece  accompanies  the  flock. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHBL.  73 

Some  thought  they  God's  anointed  meant  to  slay 

By  guns,  invented  since  full  many  a  day : 

Our  author  swears  it  not ;  but  who  can  know 

How  far  the  devil  and  Jebusites  may  go  1 

This  plot,  whickfail'd  for  want.of  conmion  sense, 

Had  yet  a  deep  and  dangerous  consequence: 

For  as  when  raging  fevers  boil  the  blood, 

The  standing  lake  soon  floats  into  a  flood, 

And  every  hostile  humour,  which  before 

Slept  quiet  in  its  channels,  bubbles  o'er ; 

So  several  factions  from  this  first  ferment, 

Work  up  to  foam,  and  threat  the  government. 

Some  by  their  friendsi"more  lyy  themselves  thought  wise 

Opposed  the  power  to  which  they  could  not  rise. 

Some  had  in  courts  been  great,  and  thrown  from  thence, 

Like  fiends  were  harden'd  in  impenitence. 

Some,  by  their  monarch's  fatal  mercy,  grown 

From  pardon'd  rebels  kinsmen  to  the  throne, 

Were  raised  in  power  and  public  office  high ; 

Strong  bands,  if  bands  ungrateful  men  could  tie. 

Of  these  the  false  Achitophel_was  first ; 
A  name  to  all  succeedmg  ages  cursed : 
For  close  designs,  and  crooked  counsels  fit ; 
Sagacious,  bold,  and  turbulent  of  wit ;  ,    .  • 

Restless,  unfix'd  in  principles  and  place  ;  ,      '/(LmOLaj^m 

In  power  unpleased,  impatient  of  disgrace  :  \  ^  t^*'^*'''*''^^^.^'' 

^ fiery  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way*'        /.^^    *^^       / 
Fretted  the  pigmy-body  to  decay,  /  '      '-  '(r\    /  -*^-''  . 

And  o'er-inform'd  the  tenement  of  clay/ 
A  daring  pilot  in  extremity ; 

Pleased  with  the  danger,  when  the  waves  went  high 
He  sought  the  storms  ;  but,  for  a  calm  unfit, 
Would  steer  too  nigh  the  sands  to  boast  his  wit.        \ 
Great  wits  are  sure  to  madness  near  allied,  > 

And  thin  partitions  do  their  bounds  divide  ;  \ 

Else  why  should  he,  with  wealth  and  honour  blest,      \ 
Refuse  his  age  the  needful  hours  of  rest  ?  j 

Punish  a  body  which  he  could  not  please  ;  , 

Bankrupt  of  life,  yet  prodigal  of  ease  ? 

And  all  to  leave  wj^iat  with  his  toil  he  won,  [_,. 

To  that  i;infeather'd  two-legg'd'  thing,  a  son  ; 
Got,  while  his  soul  did  huddlfid  notions  try ; 
And  bom  a  shapeless  lump,  like  anarchy. 


74  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHBL, 

In  friendship  false,  implacable  in  hate ; 

Resolved  to  ruin  or  to  rule  the  state. 

To  compass  this  the  triple  bond  he  broke ; 

The  pillars  of  the  public  safety  shook ; 

And  fitted  Israel  for  a  foreign  yoke : 

Then  seized  with  fear,  yet  still  affecting  fame, 

Usurp'd  a  patriot's  all-atoning  name. 

So  easy  still  it  proves,  in  factious  times, 

With  public  zeal  to  cancel  private  crimes. 

How  safe  is  treason,  and  how  sacred  ill, 

Where  none  can  sin  against  the  people's  will  I 

Where  crowds  can  wink,  and  no  offence  be  known, 

Since  in  another's  guilt  they  find  their  own ! 

Yet  fame  deserved  no  enemy  can  grudge ; 

The  statesman  we  abhor,  but  praise  the  judge. 

In  Israel's  courts  ne'er  sat  an  Abethdin 

With  more  discerning  eyes,  or  hands  more  clean, 

Unbribed,  unsought,  the  wretched  to  redress  ; 

Swift  of  dispatch,  and  easy  of  access. 

Oh  !  had  he  been  content  to  serve  the  crown, 

With  virtues  only  proper  to  the  gown  ; 

Or  had  the  rankness  of  the  soil  been  freed 

From  cockle,  that  oppress'd  the  noble  seed  ; 

David  for  him  his  tuneful  harp  had  strung, 

And  heaven  had  wanted  one  immortal  song. 

But  wild  Ambition  loves  to  slide,  not  stand. 

And  Fortune's  ice  prefers  to  Virtue's  land. 

Achitophel,  grown  weary  to  possess 

A  lawful  fame,  and  lazy  happiness, 

Disdain'd  the  golden  fruit  to  gather  free. 

And  lent  the  crowd  his  arm  to  shake  the  tree. 

Now,  manifest  of  crimes  contrived  long  since. 

He  stood  at  bold  defiance  with  his  prince  ; 

Held  up  the  buckler  of  the  people's  cause 

Against  the  crown,  and  sculk'd  behind  the  laws. 

The  wish'd  occasion  of  the  plot  he  takes  ; 

Some  circumstances  finds,  but  more  he  makes. 

By  buzzing  emissaries  fills  the  ears 

Of  listening  crowds  with  jealousies  and  fears 

Of  arbitrary  counsels  brought  to  light. 

And  proves  the  king  himself  a  Jebusite. 

Weak  arguments  !  which  yet  he  knew  full  well. 

Were  strong  with  people  easy  to  rebel. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  75 

For,  govern'd  by  the  moon,  the  giddy  Jews 

Tread  the  same  track  when  she  the  prime  renews  ; 

And  once  in  twenty  years,  their  scribes  record, 

By  natural  instinct  they  change  their  lord. 

Achitophel  still  wants  a  chief,  and  none 

Was  found  so  fit  as  warlike  Absalom. 

Not  that  he  wish'd  his  greatness  to  create, 

For  poUticians  neither  love  nor  hate  : 

But,  for  he  knew  his  title  not  allow'd, 

Would  keep  him  still  depending  on  the  crowd  : 

That  kingly  power,  thus  ebbing  out,  might  be 

Drawn  to  the  dregs  of  a  democracy. 

Him  he  attempts  with  studied  arts  to  please, 

And  sheds  his  venom  in  such  words  as  these  : 

*  Auspicious  prince,  at  whose  nativity 
Some  royal  planet  ruled  the  southern  sky ; 
Thy  longing  country's  darling  and  desire  ; 
Their  cloudy  pillar  and  their  guardian  fire  : 
Their  second  Moses,  whose  extended  wand 
Divides  the  seas,  and  shows*  he  promised  land : 
Whose  dawning  day,  in  every  distant  age, 
Has  exercised  the  sacred  prophet's  rage  : 
The  people's  prayer,  the  glad  diviner's  theme. 
The  young  men's  vision,  and  the  old  men's  dream  ! 
Thee,  Saviour,  thee  the  nation's  vows  confess. 
And,  never  satisfied  with  seeing,  bless  : 
Swift  unbespoken  pomps  thy  steps  proclaim. 
And  stammering  babes  are  taught  to  lisp  thy  name: 
How  long  wilt  thou  the  general  joy  detain. 
Starve  and  defraud  the  people  of  thy  roign  ! 
Content  ingloriously  to  pass  thy  days. 
Like  one  of  virtue's  fools  that  feed  on  praise  ; 
Till  thy  fresh  glories,  which  now  shine  so  bright, 
Grow  stale,  and  tarnish  with  our  daily  sight ! 
Believe  me,  royal  youth,  thy  fryiit  must  be 
Or  gather'd  ripe,  or  rot  upon  the  tree. 
Heaven  has  to  all  allotted,  soon  or  late, 
Some  lucky  revolution  of  their  fate  : 
Whose  motions  if  we  watch  and  guide  with 'skill, 
(For  human  good  depends  on  human  will,) 
Our  fortune  rolls  as  from  a  smooth  descent, 
And  from  the  first  impression  takes  the  bent : 
But,  i?  unseized,  she  glides  away  like  wind, 
And  leaves  repenting  folly  far  behind. 


76  ABSALOM  AlfD  ACHITOPHEL. 

Now,  now  she  meets  you  with  a  glorious  prize, 
And  spreads  her  locks  before  her  as  she  flies. 
Had  thus  old  David,  from  whose  loins  you  spring, 
Not  dared  when  fortune  call'd  him  to  be  king. 
At  Gath  an  exile  he  might  still  remain, 
And  Heaven's  anointing  oil  had  been  in  vain. 
Let  his  successful  youth  your  hopes  engage  ; 
But  shun  the  example  of  declining  age  : 
Behold  him  setting  in  his  western  skies, 
The  shadows  lengthening  as  the  vapours  rise. 
He  is  not  now,  as  when  on  Jordan's  sand 
The  joyful  people  throng'd  to  see  him  land. 
Covering  the  beach,  and  blackening  all  the  strand ; 
But,  like  the  prince  of  angels,  from  his  height 
Comes  tumbling  downward  with  diminish'd  light : 
Betray'd  by  one  poor  plot  to  public  scorn : 
(bur  only  blessing  since  his  cursed  return :) 
Those  heaps  of  people  which  one  sheaf  did  bind, 
Blown  off  and  scatter'd  by  a  puflf  of  wind. 
What  strength  can  he  to  your  designs  oppose, 
Naked  of  friends  and  round  beset  with  foes  ? 
If  Pharaoh's  doubtful  succour  he  should  use, 
A  foreign  aid  would  more  incense  the  Jews  : 
Proud  Egvpt  would  dissembled  friendship  bring, 
Foment  the  war,  but  not  support  the  king : 
Nor  would  the  royal  party  e'er  unite 
With  Pharaon's  arms  to  assist  the  Jebusile  ; 
Or  if  they  should,  their  interest  soon  would  break^ 
And  with  such  odious  aid  make  David  weak. 
All  sorts  of  men  by  my  successful  arts. 
Abhorring  kings,  estrange  their  alter'd  hearts 
From  David's  rule  :  and  'tis  their  general  cry. 
Religion,  commonwealth,  and  libei-ty. 
If  you,  as  champion  of  the  public  good. 
Add  to  their  arms  a  chief  of  royal  blood. 
What  may  not  Israel  hope,  and  what  applause 
Might  such  a  general  gain  by  such  a  cause  ? 
Not  barren  praise  alone,  that  gaudy  flower 
Fair  only  to  the  sight,  but  sohd  power  : 
And  nobler  is  a  limited  command, 
Given  by  the  love  of  all  your  native  land, 
Than  a  successive  title,  long  and  dark, 
Drawn  from  the  mouldy  rolls  of  Noah's  ark,' 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEI^.  77 

What  cannot  praise  effect  in  mighty  minds, 
When  flattery  sootKes,  and  when  ambition  blinds  ? 
Desire  of  power,  on  earth  a  vicious  weed, 
Yet"  sprung  from  high  is  of  celestial  seed : 
In  God  'tis  glory  ;  and  when  men  aspire, 
'Tis  but  a  spark  too  much  of  heavenly  fire. 
The  ambitious  youth  too  covetous  of  fame, 
Too  full  of  angels'  mettle  in  his  frame, 
Unwarily  was  led  from  virtue's  ways, 
Made  drunk  with  honour,  and  debauch'd  with  precise  ; 
Half  loth,  and  half  consenting  to  the  ill. 
For  royal  blood  within  him  struggled  still. 
He  thus  repHed  : — '  And  what  pretence  have  I 
To  take  up  arms  for  public  liberty  1 

My  father  governs  with  unquestion'd  right ;  -j^ 

The  faith's  defender,  and  mankind's  delight;  ^..^  '•C>^ 

Good,  gracious,  just,  observant  of  the  laws  ;  T^   .         ^  "^ 

And  Heaven  by  wonders  has  espoused  his  cause, . 
Whom  has  he  wrong'd  in  all  his  peaceful  reign  ? 
Who  sues  for  justice  to  his  throne  in  vain  ? 
What  millions  has  he  pardon'd  of  his  foes, 
Whom  just  revenge  did  to  his  wrath  expose  ?  i 

Mild,  easy,  humble,  studious  of  our  good  ; 
Inclined  to  mercy,  and  averse  from  blood,  . 

If  mildness  ill  with  stubborn  Israel  suit. 
His  crime  is  God's  beloved  attribute. 

What  could  he  gain  his  people  to  betray,  'v. 

Or  change  his  right  for  arbitrary  sway  ? 
Let  haughty  Pharaoh  curse  with  such  a  reign 
His  fruitful  Nile,  and  yoke  a  servile  train. 
If  David's  rule  Jerusalem  displease,     C  >vv  '-^  "^ '  '    ij^ 

The  dog-star  heats  their  brains  to  this  disease,  '5»«tpj^' 

Why  then  should  I,  encouraging  the  bad, 
Turn  rebel  and  run  popularly  mad  ? 
Were  he  a  tyrai^t,  who,  by  lawless  might 
Oppress'd  the  Jews  and  raised  the  Jebusite, 
Well  might  I  mourn  ;  but  nature's  holy  band^ 
Would  curb  my  spirit  and  restrain  my  hands : 
The  people  might  assert  their  liberty ; 
But  what  was  right  in  them  were  crime  in  me. 
His  favour  leaves  me  nothing  to  require. 
Prevents  my  wishes,  and  out-runs  desire  ; 
What  more  can  I  expect  while  David  lives  ? 
All  but  his  kingly  diadem  he  gives  : 


78  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

And  that' — But  there  he  paused  ;  then  sighing,  said— 

*  Is  justly  destined  for  a  worthier  head. 

For  when  my  father  from  his  toils  shall  rest, 

And  late  augment  the  number  of  the  blest, 

His  lawful  issue  shall  the  throne  ascend. 

Or  the  collateral  line,  where  that  shall  end. 

His  brother,  though  oppress'd  with  vulgar  spite. 

Yet  dauntless,  and  secure  of  native  right, 

Of  every  royal  virtue  stands  possess'd  ; 

Still  dear  to  all  the  bravest  and  the  best : 

His  oourage  foes,  his  friends  his  truth  proclaim. 

His  loyalty  the  king,  the  world  his  fame  : 

His  mercy  e'en  the  offending  crowd  will  find  ; 

For  sure  he  comes  of  a  forgiving  kind. 

Why  should  I  then  repine  at  Heaven's  decree, 

Which  gives  me  no  pretence  to  royalty  1 

Yet,  oh  that  fate,  propitiously  inclined, 

Had  raised  my  birth,  or  had  debased  my  mind ; 

To  my  large  soul  not  all  her  treasure  lent, 

And  then  betray'd  it  to  a  mean  descent ! 

1  find,  I  find  my  mounting  spirits  bold. 

And  David's  part  disdains  my  mother's  mould. 

Why  am  I  scanted  by  a  niggard  birth  ? 

My  soul  disclaims  the  kindred  of  her  earth  ; 

And,  made  for  empire,  whispers  me  within, 

Desire  of  greatness  is  a  god-hke  sin.' 

Him  staggering  so,  when  hell's  dire  agent  found, 
While  fainting  virtue  scarce  maintain'd  her  ground, 
He  pours  fresh  forces  in,  and  thus  replies  : 

*  The  eternal  God,  supremely  good  and  wise. 
Imparts  not  these  prodigious  gifts  in  vain : 
What  wonders  are  reserved  to  bless  your  reign  ! 
A  Against  your  will,  your  arguments  have  shown, 

xlj^t  i  ^^^^  virtue 's  only  given  to  guide  a  throne. 
' '  ^^  Not  that  your  father's  mildness  I  contemn  ; 
But  manly  force  becomes  the  diadem. 
'Tis  true  he  grants  the  people  aU  they  crave  ; 
And  more,  perhaps,  than  subjects  ought  to  have  : 
For  lavish  grants  suppose  a  monarch  tame. 
And  more  his  goodness  than  his  wit  proclaim.       » 
But  when  should  people  strive  their  bonds  to  break, 
If  not  when  kings  are  negligent  or  weak  ? 
Let  him  give  on  till  he  can  give  no  more. 
The  thrifty  Sanhedrim  shall  keep  him  poor  ^ 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  79 

And  every  shekel  which  he  can  receive 

Shall  cost  a  limb  of  his  prerogative. 

To  ply  him  with  new  plots  shall  be  my  care  ; 

Or  plunge  him  deep  in  some  expensive  war  ; 

Which  when  his  treasure  can  no  more  supply, 

He  must,  with  the  remains  of  kingship,  buy 

His  faithful  friends,  our  jealousies  and  fears 

Call  Jebusites  and  Pharaoh's  pensioners, 

WhoQi  when  our  fury  from  his  aid  has  torn, 

He  shall  be  naked  left  to  public  scorn. 

The  next  successor,  whom  I  fear  and  hate, 

My  arts  have  made  obnoxious  to  the  state  ; 

Turn'd  all  his  virtues  to  his  overthrow, 

And  gained  our  elders  to  pronounce  a  foe. 

His  right,  for  sums  of  necessary  gold. 

Shall  first  be  pawn'd,  and  afterwards  be  sold ; 

Till  time  shall  ever-wanting  David  draw, 

To  pass  your  doubtful  title  into  law  ; 

If  not,  the  people  have  a  ri^ht  supreme 

To  make  their  kings  ;  for  kings  are  mad^  for  them. 

All  empire  Is  ho  'more  than  power  in  trust, 

Which,  when  resumed,  can  be  no  longer  just. 

Succession,  for  the  general  good  design'd, 

In  its  own  wrong  a  nation  cannot  bind : 

If  altering  that  the  people  can  relieve. 

Better  one  suffer  than  a  million  grieve. 

The  Jews  well  know  their  power  :  ere  Saul  they  chose^ 

God  was  their  king,  and  God  they  durst  depose. 

Urge  now  your  piety,  your  filial  name, 

A  father's  right,  and  fear  of  future  fame  ; 

The  public  good,  that  universal  call. 

To  which  e'en  Heaven  submitted,  answers  aU. 

Nor  let  his  love  enchant  your  generous  mind ;   > 

'Tis  nature's  trick  to  propagate  her  kind. 

Our  fond  begetters,  who  would  never  die, 

Love  but  themselves  in  their  posterity. 

Or  let  his  kindness  by  the  effects  be  tried, 

Or  let  him  lay  his  vain  pretence  aside. 

God  said,  he  loved  your  father  ;  could  he  bring 

A  better  proof,  than  to  anoint  him  king  ? 

It  surely  show'd  he  loved  the  shepherd  well, 

Who  gave  so  fair  a  flock  as  Israel. 

Would  David  have  you  thought  his  darHng  son  T 

What  means  he  then  to  ahenate  the  crown  ] 


80  ABSALOM   AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

The  name  of  godly  he  may  blush  to  bear: 

Is't.  after  (clod's  own  heart  to  cheat  his  heir  ? 

He  to  his  brother  gives  supreme  command, 

To  you  a  legacy  of  barreu  land  ; 

Perhaps  the  old  harp,  on  which  ho  thrums  his  lays, 

Or  some  dull  Hebrew  ballad  in  your  praise. 

Then  the  next  heir,  a  prince  severe  and  wise, 

Already  looks  on  you  \vith  jealous  eyes  ; 

Sees  through  the  thin  disguises  of  your  arts, 

And  marks  your  progress  in  the  people's  hearts ; 

Though  now  his  mighty  soul  its  grief  contains : 

He  meditates  revenge  who  least  complains ; 

And  hke  a  hon,  slumbering  in  the  way, 

Or  sleep  dissembling,  while  he  waits  his  prey, 

His  fearless  foes  within  his  distance  draws, 

Constrains  his  roaring,  and  contracts  his  paws ; 

Till,  at  the  last,  his  time  for  fury  found. 

He  shoots  with  sudden  vengeance  from  the  ground  ; 

The  prostrate  vulgar  passes  o'er  and  spares. 

But  with  a  lordly  rage  his  hunters  tears. 

Your  case  no  tame  expedients  will  afford : 

Resolve  on  death,  or  conquest  by  the  sword. 

Which  for  no  less  a  stake  than  life  you  draw ; 

And  self-defence  is  nature's  eldest  law. 

Leave  the  warm  people  no  considering  time. 

For  then  rebellion  may  be  thought  a  crime. 

Avail  yourself  of  what  occasion  gives, 

J3ut  try  your  title  while  your  father  lives : 

And,  that  your  arms  may  have  a  fair  pretence. 

Proclaim  you  take  them  in  the  king's  defence.; 

Wliose  sacred  life  each  minute  would  expose 

To  plots,  from  seeming  friends,  and  secret  foes. 

And  who  can  sound  the  depth  of  David's  soul  ? 

Pei'haps  his  fear  his  kindness  may  control. 

lie  fears  his  brother,  though  he  loves  his  son^ 

For  plighted  vows  too  late  to  be  undone. 

If  so,  by  force  he  wishes  to  be  gain'd : 

Like  women's  lechery  to  seem  constrain'd. 

Doubt  not :  but,  when  he  most  affects  the  frown, 

Commit  a  pleasing  rape  upon  the  crown. 

Secure  his  person  to  secure  your  cause : 

They  who  possess  the  prince  possess  the  laws.' 

He  said,  and  this  advice  above  the  rest. 
With  Absalom's  mild  nature  suited  best ; 


ABSALOM  AND   ACHITOPHEL,  SI 

Unblamed  for  life,  ambition  set  aside, 

Not  stain'd  with  cruelty,  nor  puft'd  with  pride. 

How  happy  had  he  been,  if  destiny 

Had  higher  placed  his  birth,  or  not  so  high  ! 

His  kingly  virtues  might  have  claim'd  a  throne, 

And  bless'd  aU  other  countries  but  his  own. 

But  charming  greatness  since  so  few  refuse, 

'Tis  juster  to  lament  him  than  accuse. 

Strong  were  his  hopes  a  rival  to  remove, 

With  blandishments  to  gain  the  public  love : 

To  head  the  faction  while  their  zeal  was  hot. 

And  popularly  prosecute  the  plot. 

To  fui-ther  this,  Achitophel  unites 

The  malcontents  of  all  the  Israelites  : 

Whose  differing  parties  he  could  wisely  join, 

For  several  ends,  to  serve  the  same  design. 

The  best,  and  of  the  princes  some  were  such, 

Who  thought  the  power  of  monarchy  too  much  ; 

;^listaken  merij  andjpat^^ 

Not  wicked,  but  seduced  by  impious  arts. 

By  these  the  springs  of  property  were  bent, 

And  wound  so  high,  they  crack  d  the  government. 

The  next  for  interest  sought  to  embroil  the  state, 

To  sell  their  duty  at  a  dearer  rate  ; 

And  make  their  Jewish  markets  of  the  throne  ; 

Pretending  pubHc  good  to  serve  their  own. 

Others  thought  kings  an  useless  heavy  load,. 

Who  cost  too  much,  and  did  too  little  good. 

These  were  for  laying  honest  David  by. 

On  principles  of  pure  good  husbandry.  ^ 

With  them  join'd  all  the  haranguers  of  the  throngs 

That  thought  to  get  preferment  by  the  tongue. 

Who  follow  next  a  double  danger  bring. 

Not  only  hating  David,  but  the  king ; 

The  Solymsean  rout ;  well  versed  of  old. 

In  godly  faction,  and  in  treason  bold  ; 

Cowering  and  quaking  at  a  conqueror's  sword, 

But  lofty  to  a  lawful  prince  restored  ; 

Saw  with  disdain  an  Ethnic  plot  begun. 

And  scorn'd  by  Jebusites  to  be  outdone. 

Hot  Levites  headed  these  ;  who  puU'd  before 

From  the  ark,  which  in  the  Judges'  days  they  bore^ 

Eesumed  their  cant,  and  with  a  zealous  cry. 

Pursued  their  old  beloved  Theocracy: 


f/ 


82  /  \^    A  ABSALOM  Am)  ACHITOPHEL. 

\  Where  Sanhedrim  and  priest  enslaved  the  nation, 

, )  And  justified  their  spoils  by  inspiration  : 
For  who  so  fit  to  reign  as  Aaron's  race, 

V   If  once  dominion  they  could  found  in  grace  ! 
These  led  the  pack  ;  though  not  of  surest  scent, 
Yet  deepest  mouth'd  against  the  government. 
A  numerous  host  of  dreaming  saints  succeed, 
Of  the  true  old  enthusiastic  breed  T^ 
'Gainst  form  and  order  they  their  power  employ, 
Nothing  to  build,  and  all  things  to  destroy. 
But  far  more  numerous  was  the  herd  of  such, 

r.   Who  think  too  little,  and  who  talk  too  much. 
These  out  of  mere  instinct,  they  knew  not  why. 
Adored  their  fathers'  God  and  property* 
And  by  the  same  blind  benefit  of  fate, 
The  devil  and  the  Jebusite  did  hate : 
Bom  to  be  saved,  even  in  their  own  despite. 
Because  they  could  not  help  believing  right. 
Such  were  the  tools  :  but  a  whole  Hydra  more 
Remains  of  sprouting  heads  too  long  to  score. 
Some  of  their  chiefs  were  princes  of  the  land ; 
In  the  first  rank  of  these  did  Zimji  stand  ; 
A  man  so  various,  that  he  seem'a  to  be 
Not  one,  but  all  mankind's  epitome : 
Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong  ; 
Was  every  thing  by  starts,  and  nothing  long ; 
But,  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon, 
Was  chymist,  fiddler,  statesman,  and  buffoon  : 
Then  all  for  womeii,  painting,  rhyming,  drinking, 
Besides  ten  thousand  freaks  that  died  in  thinking. 
Blest  madman,  who  could  every  hour  employ. 
With  something  new  to  wish,  or  to  enjoy! 
Railing  and  praising  were  his  usual  themes  ; 
And  both,  to  show  his  judgment,  in  extremes : 
So  over- violent,  or  over-r-i^^^i 
I'iiat  every  man  with  him  was  God  or  Devil. 
In  squandering  wealth  was  his  pecuUar  art ; 
Nothing  went  unrewarded  but  desert. 
Beggar'd  by  fools,  whom  still  he  found  too  late  ; 
He  had  his  jest,  and  they  had  his  estate. 
He  laugh'd  himself  from  court,  then  sought  relief 
3y  forming  parties,  but  could  ne'er  be  chief: 
For,  spite  of  him,  the  weight  of  business  fell 
On  Absalom,  and  wise  Achitophel : 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  83 

Thus,  wicked  hut  in  will,  of  means  bereft, 
He  left  no  faction,  but  of  that  was  left. 

Titles  and  names  'twere  tedious  to  rehearse 
Of  lords,  below  the  dignity  of  verse. 
Wits,  warriors,  commonwealth's-men,  were  the  best : 
Kind  husbands,  and  mere  nobles,  all  the  rest. 
And  therefore,  in  the  name  of  dulness,  be 

The  well-hung  Balaam  and  cold  Caleb,  free  :  . 

And  canting  NadaBIet  obhvion  "damn,  y     >^ 

Who  made  new  porridge  for  the  paschal  lamb.  Cr 

Let  friendship's  holy  band  some  names  assure  ; 
Some  their  own  worth,  and  some  let  scorn  secure. 
Nor  shall  the  rascal  rabble  here  have  place. 
Whom  kings  no  titles  gave,  and  God  no  grace : 
Not  buU-faced  Jonas,  who  could  statutes  draw 
To  mean  rebellion,  and  make  treason  law. 
But  he,  though  bad,  is  foUow'd  by  a  worse. 
The  wretch  who  Heaven's  anointed  dared  to  curse ; 
Sliioisi,  whose  yi)jith.iJid^Qarly  promise  bring  % 

Of  zeal  to  God  and  hatred  to  his  king  j 
Did  wisely  from  expensive  sins  refrain, 

And  never  broke  the. sabbath — but  for  gain :  *^''->C>- 

Nor  ever  was  he  known  ah  oath  to  vent,     "  ^ 

Or  curse,  unless  against  the  government. 
Thus  heaping  wealth,  by  the  most  ready  way 
Among  the  Jews — which  was  to  cheat  and  pray : 
The  city,  to  reward  his  pious  hate 
Against  his  master,  chose  him  magistrate. 
His  hand  a  staff  of  justice  did  uphold ; 
His  neck  was  loaded  with  a  chain  of  gold. 
During  his  office,  treason  was  no  crime ; 
The  sons  of  Belial  had  a  glorious  time  : 
For  Shimei,  though  not  prodigal  of  pelf. 
Yet  loved  his  wicked  neighbour  as  himself. 
When  two  or  three  were  gather'd  to  declaim 
Against  the  monarch  of  Jerusalem, 

Shimei  was  always  in  the  midst  of  them  :  • 

And  if  they  cursed  the  king  when  he  was  by, 
Would  rather  curse  than  break  good  company. 
If  any  durst  his  factious  friends  accuse, 
He  pack'd  a  jury  of  dissenting  Jews  ; 
Whose  fellow-feehng  in  the  godly  cause 
Would  free  the  suffering  saint  from  human  laws. 


84  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

Tor  laws  are  only  made  to  punish  those 
"WTio  serve  the  king,  and  to  protect  his  foes. 
If  any  leisure  time  he  had  from  power, 
(Because  'tis  sin  to  misemploy  an  hour,) 
His  business  was,  by  writing  to  persuade. 
That  kings  were  useless,  and  a  clog  to  trade : 
And,  that  his  noble  style  he  might  refine. 
No  Rechabite  more  shunn'd  the  fumes  of  wiiae. 
Chaste  were  his  cellars,  and  his  shrieval  board 
The  grossness  of  a  city  feast  abhorr'd : 
His  cooks  with  long  disuse  their  trade  forgot ; 
Cool  was  his  kitchen,  though  his  brains  were  hot. 
Such  frugal  virtue,  malice  may  accuse  ; 
But  sure  'twas  necessary  to  the  Jews  : 
For  towns,  once  burnt,  such  magistrates  require 
As  dare  not  tempt  God's  providence  by  fire. 
With  spiritual  food  he  fed  his  servants  well. 
But  free  from  flesh  that  made  the  Jews  rebel : 
^nd  Moses'  laws  he  held  in  more  account, 
For  forty  days  of  fasting  in  the  mount. 
To  speak  the  rest  who  better  are  forgot, 
'^  Would  tire  a  well-breathed  witness  of  the  plot. 
Yet  Qor§hi  thou  shalt  from  oblivion  pass  ; 
Et*^crtliyself,  thou  monumental  brass, 
High  as  the  serpent  of  thy  metal  made. 
While  nations  stand  secure  beneath  thy  shade. 
What,  though  his  birth  were  base,  yet  comets  rise 
From  earthly  vapours,  ere  they  shine  in  skies. 
Prodigious  actions  may  as  well  be  done 
By  weaver's  issue,  as  by  prince's  son. 
lliis  arch-attestor  for  the  public  good. 
By  that  one  deed  ennobles  all  his  blood. 
Who  ever  asked  the  witness's  high  race. 
Whose  oath  with  martyrdom  did  Stephen  grace  ? 
Ours  was  a  Levite,  and  as  times  went  then, 
His  tribe  were  God  Almighty's  gentlemen. 
Sunk  were  his  eyes,  his  voice  was  harsh  and  loud. 
Sure  signs  he  neither  choleric  was,  nor  proud : 
His  long  chin  proved  his  wit ;  his  saint-like  grace 
A  church- vermilion,  and  a  Moses'  face. 
His  memory,  miraculously  great. 
Could  plots,  exceeding  man's  belief,  repeat ; 
Which  therefore  cannot  be  accounted  lies, 
For  human  wit  could  never  such  devise. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACfHITOPHEL.  B5 

Some  future  truths  are  mingled  in  his  hook  ; 

But  where  the  witness  fail'd,  the  prophet  spoke : 

Some  things  Hke  visionary  flights  appear  ; 

The  spirit  caught  him  up,  the  Lord  knows  where  ; 

And  gave  him  his  rabbinical  degree, 

Unknown  to  foreign  university. 

His  judgment  yet  his  memory  did  excel ; 

Which  pieced  his  wondrous  evidence  so  well, 

And  suited  to  the  temper  of  the  times, 

Then  groaning  under  Jebusitic  crimes. 

Let  Israel's  foes  suspect  his  heavenly  call. 

And  rashly  judge  his  writ  apocryphal ; 

Our  laws  for  such  affronts  have  forfeits  made : 

He  takes  his  life,  who  takes  away  his  trade. 

"Were  I  myself  in  witness  Corah's  place, 

The  wretch  who  did  me  such  a  dire  disgrace, 

Should  whet  my  memory,  though  once  forgot, 

To  make  him  an  appendix  of  my  plot. 

His  zeal  to  Heaven  made  him  his  prince  despise^ 

And  load  his  person  with  indignities. 

But  zeal  peculiar  privilege  affords. 

Indulging  latitude  to  deeds  and  words : 

And  Corah  might  for  Agag's  murder  call, 

In  terms  as  coarse  as  Samuel  used  to  SauL 

What  others  in  his  evidence  did  join. 

The  best  that  could  be  had  for  love  or  coin, 

In  Corah's  own  predicament  will  fall : 

For  witness  is  a  common  name  to  all. 

Surrounded  thus  with  friends  of  every  sort. 
Deluded  Absalom  forsakes  the  court : 
Impatient  of  high  hopes,  urged  with  renown, 
And  fired  with  near  possession  of  a  crown. 
The  admiring  crowd  are  dazzled  with  surprise, 
And  on  his  goodly  person  feed  their  eyes. 
His  joy  conceal'd,  he  sets  himself  to  show ; 
On  each  side  bowing  popularly  low ; 
His  looks,  his  gestures,  and  his  words  he  frames, 
And  with  familiar  ease  repeats  their  names. 
Thus  form'd  by  nature,  furnish'd  out  with  arts, 
He  glides  unfelt  into  their  secret  hearts. 
Then,  with  a  kind  compassionating  look. 
And  sighs,  bespeaking  pity  ere  he  spoke, 
Few  words  he  said  ;  but  easy  those  and  fit. 
More  slow  than  Hybla-drops,  and  far  more  sweet. 


86  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

I  mourn,  my  countrymen,  your  lost  estate ; 
Though  far  unable  to  prevent  your  fate : 
Behold  a  banish'd  man  for  your  dear  cause 
Exposed  a  prey  to  arbitrary  laws ! 
Yet,  oh !  that  I  alone  could  be  undone, 
Cut  oflF  from  empire,  and  no  more  a  son ! 
Now  all  your  liberties  a  spoil  are  made  ; 
Egypt  and  Tyrus  intercept  your  trade, 
And  Jebusites  your  sacred  rites  invade. 
My  father,  whom  with  reverence  yet  I  name, 
Charm'd  into  ease,  is  careless  of  his  fame  ; 
And,  bribed  with  petty  sums  of  foreign  gold, 
Is  grown  in  Bathsheba's  embraces  old ; 
Exalts  his  enemies,  his  friends  destroys  ; 
And  all  his  power  against  himself  employs. 
He  gives,  and  let  him  give,  my  right  away : 
But  why  should  he  his  own  and  your's  betray  ? 
He,  only  he,  can  make  the  nation  bleed, 
And  he  alone  from  my  revenge  is  freed. 
Take  then  my  tears,  (with  that  he  wiped  his  eyes,) 
'Tis  all  the  aid  my  present  power  supplies  : 
No  court-informer  can  these  arms  accuse  ; 
These  arms  may  sons  against  their  fathers  use : 
And  'tis  my  wish,  the  next  successor's  reign 
May  make  no  other  Israelite  complain. 

Youth,  beauty,  graceful  action  seldom  fail ; 
But  common  interest  always  will  prevail : 
And  pity  never  ceases  to  be  shown 
To  him  who  makes  the  people's  wrongs  his  own. 
The  crowd,  that  stiU  believe  their  kings  oppress, 
With  Hfted  hands  their  young  Messiah  bless  : 
Who  now  begins  his  progress  to  ordain 
With  chariots,  horsemen,  and  a  numerous  train : 
From  east  to  west  his  glories  he  displays, 
And,  like  the  sun,  the  promised  land  surveys. 
Fame  runs  before  him  as  the  morning-star, 
And  shouts  of  joy  salute  him  from  afar : 
Each  house  receives  him  as  a  guardian  god. 
And  consecrates  the  place  of  his  abode. 
But  hospitable  treats  did  most  commend 
Wise  Issachar,  his  wealthy  western  friend. 
This  moving  court,  that  caught  the  people's  eyes, 
And  seem'd  but  pomp,  did  other  ends  disguise : 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  87 

Achitopliel  had  form'd  it,  with  intent 

To  sound  the  depths,  and  fathom  where  it  went 

The  people's  hearts,  distinguish  friends  from  foes ;  i 

And  try  their  strength,  before  they  came  to  blows. 

Yet  all  was  colour'd  with  a  smooth  pretence 

Of  specious  love  and  duty  to  their  prince. 

Eeligion,  and  red.re3s_of_grievance3. 

Two  names  tnat  always  cheat,  and  always  please, 

Are  often  urged  ;  and  good  king  David's  Ufe 

Endanger'd  by  a  brother  and  a  wife. 

Thus  in  a  pageant  show,  a  plot  is  made ; 

And  peace  itself  is  war  in  masquerade. 

Oh,  fooUsh  Israel  !  never  warn'd  by  ill ! 

Still  the  same  bait,  and  circumvented  still ! 

Did  ever  men  forsake  their  present  ease, 

In  midst  of  health  imagine  a  disease  ; 

Take  pains  contingent  mischiefs  to  foresee, 

Make  heirs  for  monarchs,  and  for  God  decree  1 

What  shall  we  think  1     Can  people  give  away, 

Both  for  themselves  and  sons,  their  native  sway  ? 

Then  they  are  left  defenceless  to  the  sword 

Of  each  unbounded,  arbitrary  lord  : 

And  laws  are  vain,  by  which  we  right  enjoy, 

If  kings  unquestion'd  can  those  laws  destroy. 

Yet  if  the  crowd  be  judge  of  fit  and  just. 

And  kings  are  only  officers  in  trust. 

Then  this  resuming  covenant  was  declared 

When  kings  were  made,  or  is  for  ever  barr'd. 

If  those  who  gave  the  sceptre  could  not  tie 

By  their  own  deed  their  own  posterity, 

How  then  could  Adam  bind  his  future  race  ? 

How  could  his  forfeit  on  mankind  take  place  1 

Or  how  could  heavenly  justice  damn  us  all, 

Who  ne'er  consented  to  our  father's  fall  ?  # 

Then  kings  are  slaves  to  those  whom  they  command, 

And  tenants  to  their  people's  pleasure  stand. 

Add,  that  the  power  for  property  allow'd 

Is  mischievously  seated  in  the  crowd  : 

For  who  can  be  secure  of  private  right, 

If  sovereign  sway  may  be  dissolved  by  might  1 

Nor  is  the  people's  judgment  always  true  : 

The  most  may  err  as  grossly  as  the  few. 

And  faultless  kings  run  down  by  common  cry, 

For  vice,  oppression,  and  for  tyranny. 


88  ABSALOM   AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

What  standard  is  there  in  a  fickle  rout, 

Which,  flowing  to  the  mark,  runs  faster  out  ? 

Nor  only  crowds  but  Sanhedrims  may  be 

Infected  with  this  public  lunacy, 

And  share  the  madness  of  rebellious  times, 

To  murder  monarchs  for  imagined  crimes. 

If  they  may  give  and  take  whene'er  they  please, 

Not  kings  alone,  the  Godhead's  images. 

But  government  itself  at  length  must  fall 

To  nature's  state,  where  all  have  right  to  all. 

Yet  grant  our  lords  the  people  kings  can  make, 

What  prudent  men  a  settled  throne  would  shake  ? 

For  whatsoe'er  their  sufferings  were  before, 

That  change  they  covet  makes  them  suffer  more. 

All  other  errors  but  disturb  a  state  ; 

But  innovation  is  the  blow  of  fate. 

If  ancient  fabrics  nod,  and  threat  to  fall, 

To  patch  their  flaws,  and  buttress  up  the  wall, 

Thus  far  'tis  duty  :  but  here  fix  the  mark  ; 

For  all  beyond  it  is  to  touch  the  ark. 

To  change  foundations,  cast  the  frame  anew, 

Is  work  for  rebels,  who  base  ends  pursue  ; 

At  once  divine  and  human  laws  control, 

And  mend  the  parts  by  ruin  of  the  whole. 

The  tampering  world  is  subject  to  this  curse, 

To  physic  their  disease  into  a  worse. 

Now  what  reHef  can  righteous  David  bring  ? 
How  fatal  'tis  to  be  too  good  a  king ! 
Friends  he  has  few,  so  high  the  madness  grows ; 
Who  dare  be  such  must  be  the  people's  foes. 
Yet  some  there  were,  e'en  in  the  worst  of  days ; 
0.1-  ^^^®  ^^^  ^®  name,  and  naming  is  to  praise. 

-N.^^^      In  this  short  file  Barzillai  first  appears  ; 

.V^  >i4  Barzillai,  crown'd  with  honour  and  with  years. 
(fY   Jl^^Long  since,  the  rising  rebels  he  withstood 
\/r       In  regions  waste  beyond  the  Jordan's  flood : 

^  Unfortunately  brave,  to  buoy  the  state. 

But  sinking  underneath  his  master's  fate  : 
In  exile  with  his  godlike  prince  he  mourn'd ; 
For  him  he  suffer'd,  and  with  him  return'd. 
The  court  he  practised,  not  the  courtier's  art : 
Large  was  his  wealth,  but  larger  was  his  heart. 
Which  well  the  noblest  objects  knew  to  choose, 
The  fighting  warrior,  and  recording  niuse. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  8£ 

His  bed  could  once  a  fruitfdl  issue  boast ; 
Now  more  than  half  a  father's  name  is  lost. 
His  eldest  hope,  with  every  grace  adorn'd, 
By  me,  so  Heaven  will  have  it,  always  mourn'd, 
And  always  honour'd, — snatch'd  in  manhood's  prime 
By  unequal  fates,  and  providence's  crime  ; 
Yet  not  before  the  goal  of  honour  won, 
All  parts  fulhll'd  of  subject  and  of  son  : 
Swift  was  the  race,  but  short  the  time  to  run. 
Oh,  narrow  circle,  but  of  power  divine, 
Scanted  in  space,  but  perfect  in  thy  line ! 
By  sea,  by  land,  thy  matchless  worth  was  known, 
Arms  thy  delight,  and  war  was  all  thy  own : 
Thy  force  infused  the  fainting  Tyrians  propp'd : 
And  haughty  Pharaoh  found  his  fortune  stopp'd. 
Oh,  ancient  honour  !  .^  Oh,  unconquer'd  hand, 
Whom  foes  unpunish'd  never  could  withstand  ! 
But  Israel  was  unworthy  of  his  name ; 
Short  is  the  date  of  all  immoderate  fame. 
It  looks  as  Heaven  our  ruin  had  design'd, 
And  durst  not  trust  thy  fortune  and  thy  mind. 
Now,  free  from  earth,  thy  disencumber'd  soid 
Mounts  up,  and  leaves  behind  the  clouds  and  starry  pole : 
From  thence  thy  kindred  legions  mayst  thou  bring, 
To  aid  the  guardian  angel  of  thy  king. 
Here  stop,  my  muse,  here  cease  thy  painful  flight : 
No  pinions  can  pursue  immortal  height : 
Tell  good  Barzillai  thou  canst  sing  no  more, 
And  tell  thy  soul  she  should  have  fled  before  : 
Or  fled  she  with  his  Ufe,  and  left  this  verse 
To  hang  on  her  departed  patron's  hearse  ? 
Now  take  thy  steepy  flight  from  heaven,  and  see 
If  thou  canst  find  on  earth  another  he  : 
Another  he  would  be  too  hard  to  find ; 
See  then  whom  thou  canst  see  not  far  behind. 
Zadoc  the  priest,  whom,  shunning  power  and  place, 
His  lowly  mind  advanced  to  David's  grace. 
With  him  the  Sagan  of  Jerusalem, 
Of  hospitable  soul,  and  noble  stem  ; 
Him  of  the  western  dome,  whose  weighty  sense 
Flows  in  fit  words  and  heavenly  eloquence. 
The  prophets'  sons,  by  such  example  led, 
To  leaTTiinof  and  to  loyalty  were  bred : 
10 


90  ABSALOM  AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

For  colleges  on  bounteous  kings  depend, 

And  never  rebel  was  to  arts  a  friend. 

To  these  succeed  the  pillars  of  the  laws  ; 

Who  best  can  plead,  and  best  can  judge  a  causdi 

Next  them  a  train  of  loyal  peers  ascend ; 

Sharp-judging  Adriel,  the  muses'  friend. 

Himself  a  muse  :  in  Sanhedrim's  debate 

True  to  his  prince,  but  not  a  slave  of  state  : 

Whom  David's  love  with  honours  did  adorn, 

That  from  his  disobedient  son  were  torn.  tiJbH* 

Jotham  of  piercing  wit,  and  pregnant  thought :  OM^^  v  ^ 

Endued  by  nature,  and  by  learning  taught,  ^         ^ 

To  move  assembhes,  who  but  only  tried 

The  worse  awhile,  then  chose  the  better  side  : 

Nor  chose  alone,  but  turn'd  the  balance  too  ; 

So  much  the  weight  of  one  brave  man  can  do. 

Hushai,  the  friend  of  David  in  distress  ; 

In  public  storms,  of  manly  steadfastness  : 

By  foreign  treaties  he  informed  his  youth, 

And  join'd  experience  to  his  native  truth. 

His  frugal  care  supplied  the  wanting  throne  ; 

Frugal  for  that,  but  bounteous  of  his  own : 

'Tis  easy  conduct  when  exchequers  flow ; 

But  hard  the  task  to  manage  well  the  low : 

For  sovereign  power  is  too  depressed  or  high, 

When  kings  are  forced  to  sell,  or  crowds  to  buy. 

Indulge  one  labour  more,  my  weary  muse, 

For  Amiel :  who  can  Amiel's  praise  refuse  1 

Of  ancient  race  by  birth,  but  nobler  yet 

In  his  own  worth,  and  without  title  great : 

The  Sanhedrim  long  time  as  chief  he  ruled, 

Their  reason  guided,  and  their  passion  cool'd : 

So  dexterous  was  he  in  the  crown's  defence, 

So  form'd  to  speak  a  loyal  nation's  sense, 

That,  as  their  band  was  Israel's  tribes  in  small. 

So  fit  was  he  to  represent  them  all. 

Now  rasher  charioteers  the  seat  ascend, 

Whose  loose  careers  his  steady  skill  commend : 

They,  like  the  unequal  ruler  of  the  day, 

Misguide  the  seasons,  and  mistake  the  way : 

While  he,  withdrawn,  at  their  mad  labours  smiles, 

And  safe  enjoys  the  sabbath  of  his  toils. 

These  were  the  chief,  a  small  but  faitliful  band 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  91 

Of  worthies,  in  the  breach  who  dared  to  stand, 

And  tempt  the  united  fury  of  the  land. 

With  grief  they  view'd  such  powerful  engines  bent, 

To  batter  down  the  lawful  government. 

A  numerous  faction,  with  pretended  frights, 

In  Sanhedrims  to  plume  the  regal  rights ; 

The  true  successor  from  the  court  removed, 

The  plot,  by  hireling  witnesses,  improved ; 

These  ills  they  saw,  and,  as  their  duty  bound, 

They  show'd  the  king  the  danger  of  the  wound ; 

That  no  concessions  from  the  throne  would  please, 

But  lenitives  fomented  the  disease  : 

That  Absalom,  ambitious  of  the  crown, 

Was  made  the  lure  to  draw  the  people  down : 

That  false  Achitophel's  pernicious  hate 

Had  turn'd  the  plot  to  ruin  church  and  state; 

The  council  violent,  the  rabble  worse ; 

That  Shimei  taught  Jerusalem  to  curse. 

With  all  these  loads  of  injuries  oppress'd. 
And  long  revolving  in  his  careful  breast 
The  event  of  things,  at  last  his  patience  tired, 
Thus,  from  his  royal  throne,  by  Heaven  inspired. 
The  god-like  David  spoke ;  with  awful  fear 
His  train  their  Maker  in  their  master  hear. 

*  Thus  long  have  I,  by  native  mercy  sway'd, 
^ly  wrongs  dissembled,  my  revenge  delay'd : 
So  willing  to  forgive  the  offending  age, 
So  much  the  father  did  the  king  assuage. 
But  now  so  far  my  clemency  they  slight, 
The  offenders  question  my  forgiving  right : 
That  one  was  made  for  many,  they  contend ; 
But  'tis  to  rule  ;  for  that's  a  monarch's  end. 
They  call  my  tenderness  of  blood,  my  fear : 
Though  manly  tempers  can  the  longest  bear. 
Yet,  since  they  will  divert  my  native  course, 
'Tis  time  to  show  I  am  not  good  by  force. 
Those  heap'd  affronts  that  haughty  subjects  bring, 
Are  burdens  for  a  camel,  not  a  king. 
Kings  are  the  pubhc  pillars  of  the  state, 
Born  to  sustain  and  prop  the  nation's  weight ; 
If  my  young  Samson  will  pretend  a  call 
To  shake  the  column,  let  him  share  the  fall  i 
But  oh,  that  yet  he  would  repent  and  live  ! 
How  easy  'tis  for  parents  to  forgive  ! 


92  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

With  how  few  tears  a  pardon  might  be  won 

From  nature,  pleading  for  a  darhng  son  ! 

Poor,  pitied  youth,  by  my  paternal  care, 

Raised  up  to  all  the  height  his  frame  could  bear ! 

Had  God  ordain'd  his  fate  for  empire  born, 

He  would  have  given  his  soul  another  turn  : 

Giill'd  with  a  patriot's  name,  whose  modern  sense 

Is  one  that  would  by  law  supplant  his  prince  ; 

The  people's  brave,  the  politician's  tool ; 

Never  was  patriot  yet,  but  was  a  fool. 

Whence  comes  it,  that  religion  and  the  laws 

Should  more  be  Absalom's  than  David's  cause  ? 

His  old  instructor,  ere  he  lost  his  place. 

Was  never  thought  indued  with  so  much  grace. 

Good  heavens,  how  faction  can  a  patriot  paint ! 

My  rebel  ever  proves  my  people's  saint. 

Would  they  impose  an  heir  upon  the  throne  ! 

Let  Sanhedrims  be  taught  to  give  their  own. 

A  king's  at  least  a  part  of  government ; 

And  mine  as  requisite  as  their  consent : 

Without  my  leave  a  future  king  to  choose, 

Infers  a  right  the  present  to  depose. 

True,  they  petition  me  to  approve  their  choice : 

But  Esau's  hands  suit  ill  with  Jacob's  voice. 

My  pious  subjects  for  my  safety  pray ; 

Which  to  secure,  they  take  my  power  away. 

From  plots  and  treasons  Heaven  preserve  my  years, 

But  save  me  most  from  my  petitioners  ! 

Unsatiate  as  the  barren  womb  or  grave  ; 

God  cannot  grant  so  much  as  they  can  crave. 

What  then  is  left,  but  with  a  jealous  eye 

To  guard  the  small  remains  of  royalty  ! 

The  law  shall  still  direct  my  peaceful  sway, 

And  the  same  law  teach  rebels  to  obey  ; 

Votes  shall  no  more  establish'd  power  control, 

Such  votes  as  make  a  part  exceed  the  whole. 

No  groundless  clamours  shall  my  friends  remove, 

Nor  crowds  have  power  to  punish  ere  they  prove ; 

Eor  Gods  and  god-like  kings  their  care  express. 

Still  to  defend  their  servants  in  distress. 

Oh,  that  my  power  to  saving  were  confined  ! 

Why  am  I  forced,  like  Heaven,  against  my  mind. 

To  make  examples  of  another  kind  ! 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  93 

Must  I  at  length  the  sword  of  justice  draw  ? 

Oh,  cursed  effects  of  necessary  law  ! 

How  ill  my  fear  they  by  my  mercy  scan  ! 

Beware  the  fury  of  a  patient  man. 

Law  they  require,  let  Law  then  show  her  face  ; 

They  could  not  be  content  to  look  on  Grace, 

Her  hinder  parts,  but  with  a  daring  eye 

To  tempt  the  terror  of  her  front  and  die. 

By  their  own  arts  'tis  righteously  decreed, 

Those  dire  artificers  of  death  shall  bleed. 

Against  themselves  their  witnesses  will  swear, 

Till  viper-like  their  mother-plot  they  tear ; 

And  suck  for  nutriment  that  bloody  gore, 

Which  was  their  principle  of  life  before. 

Their  Belial  with  their  Beelzebub  will  fight ; 

Thus  on  my  foes,  my  foes  shall  do  me  right. 

Nor  doubt  the  event :  for  factious  crowds  engage. 

In  their  first  onset,  all  their  brutal  rage. 

Then  let  'em  take  an  unresisted  course  : 

Retire,  and  traverse,  and  delude  their  force  : 

But,  when  they  stand  all  breathless,  urge  the  fight, 

And  rise  upon  them  with  redoubled  might : 

For  lawful  power  is  still  superior  found  ; 

AVhen  long  driven  back  at  length  it  stands  the  ground.' 

He  said  :  The  Almighty  nodding  gave  consent ; 
And  peals  of  thunder  shook  the  firmament. 
Henceforth  a  series  of  new  time  began, 
The  mighty  years  in  long  procession  ran : 
Once  more  the  god-like  David  was  restored. 
And  willing  nations  knew  their  lawful  lord. 


\X 


PART  II. 


[This  second  part  was  written  by  Mr.  Nahum  Tate,  and  is  by  no  means  equal 
to  the  first,  though  Dryden  corrected  it  throughout,  and  added  above  two 
hundred  lines,  very  easily  distinguishable  from  the  lame  numbers  of  Tate. 
The  characters  introduced  are  fewer  and  of  less  importance,  and  require 
not  so  much  illustration.] 

Since  men  like  beasts  each  other's  prey  were  made, 
Since  trade  began,  and  priesthood  grew  a  trade, 
Since  realms  were  form'd,  none  sure  so  cursed  as  those 
That  madly  their  own  happiness  oppose  ; 
10* 


94  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

There  Heaven  itself  and  god-like  kings  in  vain 

Shower  down  the  manna  of  a  gentle  reign  ; 

While  pamper'd  crowds  to  mad  sedition  run, 

And  monarchs  by  indulgence  are  undone. 

Thus  David's  clemency  was  fatal  grown, 

While  wealthy  faction  awed  the  wanting  throne. 

For  now  their  sovereign's  orders  to  contemn 

Was  held  the  charter  of  Jerusalem  ; 

His  rights  to  invade,  his  tributes  to  refuse, 

A  privilege  peculiar  to  the  Jews  ; 

As  if  from  heavenly  call  this  licence  fell, 

And  Jacob's  seed  were  chosen  to  rebel ! 

Achitophel  with  triumph  sees  his  crimes 
Thus  suited  to  the  madness  of  the  times  ; 
And  Absalom,  to  make  his  hopes  succeed, 
Of  flattering  charms  no  longer  stands  in  need  ; 
While  fond  of  change,  though  ne'er  so  dearly  bought, 
Our  tribes  outstrip  the  youth's  ambitious  thought ; 
His  swiftest  hopes  with  swifter  homage  meet, 
And  crowd  their  servile  necks  beneath  his  feet. 
Thus  to  his  aid  while  pressing  tides  repair. 
He  mounts  and  spreads  his  streamers  in  the  air. 
The  charms  of  empire  might  his  youth  mislead, 
But  what  can  our  besotted  Israel  plead  ? 
Sway'd  by  a  monarch,  whose  serene  command 
Seems  half  the  blessing  of  our  promised  land  ; 
Whose  only  grievance  is  excess  of  ease  ; 
Freedom  our  pain,  and  plenty  our  disease  ! 
Yet,  as  all  foUy  would  lay  claim  to  sense, 
And  wickedness  ne'er  wanted  a  pretence, 
With  arguments  they'd  make  their  treason  good. 
And  righteous  David's  self  with  slanders  load  : 
That  arts  of  foreign  sway  he  did  affect, 
And  guilty  Jebusites  from  law  protect, 
Whose  very  chiefs,  convict,  were  never  freed, 
Nay,  we  have  seen  their  sacrificers  bleed  ! 
Accusers'  infamy  is  urged  in  vain, 
While  in  the  bounds  of  sense  they  did  contain ; 
But  soon  they  launch'd  into  the  unfathom'd  tide, 
And  in  the  depths  they  knew,  disdain'd  to  ride. 
For  probable  discoveries  to  dispense. 
Was  thought  below  a  pehsion'd  evidence ; 
Mere  truth  was  dull,  nor  suited  with  the  port 
Of  pamper'd  Corah  when  advanced  to  court. 


The  Queen's  Devotion. 


"Ills  life  the  tlieme  of  her  eternal  prayer, 
Tis  scarce  so  much  his  guardian  angel's  care." 


p.  95. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  95 

No  less  than  wonders  now  they  will  impose, 
And  projects  void  of  grace  or  sense  disclose. 
Such  was  the  charge  on  pious  Michal  brought, 
Michal,  that  ne'er  was  cruel  even  in  thought, 
The  best  of  queens,  and  most  obedient  wife, 
Impeach'd  of  cursed  designs  on  David's  life  ! 
His  life,  the  theme  of  her  eternal  prayer, 
'Tis  scarce  so  much  his  guardian  angel's  care  ! 
Not  summer  morns  such  mildness  can  disclose. 
The  Hermon  Mly,  nor  the  Sharon  rose. 
Neglecting  each  vain  pomp  of  majesty. 
Transported  Michal  feeds  her  thoughts  on  high. 
She  lives  with  angels,  and,  as  angels  do. 
Quits  heaven  sometimes  to  bless  the  world  below ; 
Where,  cherish'd  by  her  bounties'  plenteous  spring, 
Reviving  widows  smile,  and  orphans  sing. 
Oh  !  when  rebellious  Israel's  crimes  at  height, 
Are  threaten'd  with  her  lord's  approaching  fote, 
The  pieties  of  Michal  then  remain 
In  Heaven's  remembrance,  and  prolong  liis  reign ! 

Less  desolation  did  the  pest  pursue. 
That  from  Dan's  limits  to  Bsersheba  slew  ; 
Less  fatal  the  repeated  wars  of  Tyre, 
And  less  Jerusalem's  avenging  fire  : 
With  gentler  terror  these  our  state  o'er-ran, 
Than  since  our  evidencing  days  began  ! 
On  every  cheek  a  pale  confusion  sat. 
Continued  fear  beyond  the  worst  of  fate  ! 
Trust  was  no  more  ;  art — science — useless  made  ; 
All  occupations  lost,  but  Corah's  trade. 
Meanwhile  a  guard  on  modest  Corah  wait. 
If  not  for  safety,  needful  yet  for  state. 
Well  might  he  deer^  each  peer  and  prince  his  slave, 
And  lord  it  o'er  the  tribes  which  he  could  save : 
Even  vice  in  him  was  virtue — what  sad  fate 
But  for  his  honesty  had  seized  our  state  ? 
And  with  what  tyranny  had  we  been  cursed. 
Had  Corah  never  proved  a  villain  first  ? 
To  have  told  his  knowledge  of  the  intrigue  in  gross, 
Had  been,  alas  !  to  our  deponent's  loss  : 
The  travell'd  Levite  had  the  experience  got 
To  husband  well,  and  make  the  best  of  •  s  plot ; 
And  therefore,  like  an  evidence  of  skill. 
With  wise  reserves  secured  his  pension  still ; 


96  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

Nor  quite  of  future  power  himself  bereft, 
But  limbos  large  for  unbelievers  left. 
And  now  his  writ  such  reverence  had  got, 
'Twas  worse  than  plotting  to  suspect  his  plot. 
Some  were  so  well  convinced,  they  made  no  doubt 
Themselves  to  help  the  founder'd  swearers  out._ 
Some  had  their  sense  imposed  on  by  their  fear, 
But  more  for  interest  sake  believe  and  swear : 
E'en  to  that  height  with  some  the  frenzy  grew, 
They  raged  to  find  their  danger  not  prove  true. 

Yet,  than  all  these  a  viler  crew  remain, 
Who  with  Achitophel  the  cry  maintain  ; 
Not  urged  by  fear,  nor  through  misguided  sense  ; 
Blind  zeal  and  starving  need  had  some  pretence  ; 
But  for  the  good  old  cause,  that  did  excite 
The  original  rebels'  wiles,  revenge  and  spite. 
These  raise  the  plot,  to  have  the  scandal  thrown 
Upon  the  bright  successor  of  the  crown. 
Whose  virtue  with  such  wrongs  they  had  pursued, 
As  seem'd  all  hope  of  pardon  to  exclude. 
Thus,  while  on  private  ends  their  zeal  is  built, 
The  cheated  crowd  applaud  and  share  their  guilt. 

Such  practices  as  these,  too  gross  to  lie 
Long  unobserved  by  each  discerning  eye. 
The  more  judicious  Israelites  unspell'd, 
Though  still  the  charm  the  giddy  rabble  held  : 
E'en  Absalom,  amidst  the  dazzling  beams 
Of  empire,  and  ambition's  flattering  dreams, 
Perceives  the  plot,  too  foul  to  be  excused. 
To  aid  designs,  no  less  pernicious,  used : 
And,  filial  sense  yet  striving  in  his  breast. 
Thus  to  Achitophel  his  doubts  expressed  : — 

*  Why  are  my  thoughts  upon  a  crown  employed, 
Which  once  obtain'd  can  be  but  half  enjoyed  'I 
Not  so  when  virtue  did  my  arms  require. 
And  to  my  father's  wars  I  flew  entire. 
My  regal  power  how  will  my  foes  resent. 
When  I  myself  have  scarce  my  own  consent  1 
Give  me  a  son's  unblemish'd  truth  again. 
Or  quench  the  sparks  of  duty  that  remain. 
How  slight  to  force  a  throne  that  legions  guard  ! 
The  task,  to  me,  to  prove  unjust,  how  hard  ! 
And  if  the  imagined  guilt  thus  wound  my  thought, 
What  will  it,  when  the  tragic  scene  is  wrought  1 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  97 

Dire  war  must  first  be  conjured  from  below, 

The  realm  we  'd  rule  we  first  must  overthrow  ; 

And,  when  the  civil  furies  are  on  wing 

That  blind  and  undistinguish'd  slaughters  fling, 

AVho  knows  what  impious  chance  may  reach  the  king] 

Oh !  rather  let  me  perish  in  the  strife, 

Than  have  my  crown  the  price  of  David's  life ! 

Or  if  the  tempest  of  the  war  he  stand. 

In  peace,  some  vile  officious  villain's  hand 

His  soul's  anointed  temple  niay  invade. 

Or,  press'd  by  clamorous  crowds,  myself  be  made 

His  murtherer  ;  rebellious  crowds,  whose  guilt 

Shall  dread  his  vengeance  till  his  blood  be  spilt ; 

"Which  if  my  filial  tenderness  oppose, 

Since  to  the  empire  by  their  arms  I  rose, 

Those  very  arms"  on  me  shall  be  employ'd, 

A  new  usurper  crown'd,  and  I  destroy'd  : 

The  same  pretence  of  public  good  will  hold, 

And  new  Achitophels  be  found  as  bold 

To  urge  the  needful  change,  perhaps  the  old.' 

He  said.     The  statesman  with  a  smile  replies^ 
A  smile  that  did  his  rising  spleen  disguise : — 
*  My  thoughts  presumed  our  labours  at  an  end. 
And  are  we  still  with  conscience  to  contend  ] 
Whose  want  in  kings  as  needful  is  allow'd, 
As  'tis  for  them  to  find  it  in  the  crowd. 
Far  in  the  doubtful  passage  you  are  gone. 
And  only  can  be  safe  by  pressing  on. 
The  crown's  true  heir,  a  prince  severe  and  wise, 
Has  view'd  your  motions  long  with  jealous  eyes  ; 
Your  person's  charms,  your  more  prevailing  ai-ts ; 
And  mark'd  your  progress  in  the  people's  hearts ; 
Whose  patience  is  the  effect  of  stinted  power, 
But  treasures  vengeance  for  the  fatal  hour : 
And  if  remote  the  peril  he  can  bring, 
Your  present  danger's  greater  from  the  king. 
.  Let  not  a  parent's  name  deceive  your  sense, 
Nor  trust  the  father  in  a  jealous  prince  ! 
Your  trivial  faults  if  he  could  so  resent. 
To  doom  you  little  less  than  banishment. 
What  rage  must  your  presumption  since  inspire  1 
Against  his  orders  you  return  from  Tyre  ; 
Nor  only  so,  but  with  a  pomp  more  high, 


98  ABSALOM  AKD  ACHITOPHEL. 

And  open  court  of  popularity, 

The  factious  tribes' ^And  this  reproof  f\"om  theel' 

The  prince  rephes ;  *  0  statesman's  winding  skill, 

They  first  condemn  that  first  advised  the  ill ! ' 

'illustrious  youth,  (return'd  Achitophel,) 

Misconstrue  not  the  words  that  mean  you  well. 

The  course  you  steer  I  worthy  blame  conclude, 

But  'tis  because  you  leave  it  unpursued. 

A  monarch's  crown  with  fate  surrounded  lies, 

Who  reach,  lay  hold  on  death  that  miss  the  prize. 

Did  you  for  this  expose  yourself  to  show, 

And  to  the  crowd  bow  popularly  low  ? 

For  this  your  glorious  progress  next  ordain, 

With  chariots,  horsemen,  and  a  numerous  train ; 

With  fame  before  you  like  the  morning  star, 

And  shouts  of  joy  saluting  from  afar  ? 

Oh,  from  the  heights  you  've  reach'd  but  take  a  view,^ 

Scarce  leading  Lucifer  could  fall  hke  you  ! 

And  must  I  here  my  shipwreck'd  arts  bemoan  ?      y 

Have  I  for  this  so  oft  made  Israel  groan  ?      ^^^^ 

Your  single  interest  with  the  nation  weigh'd, 

And  turn'd  the  scale  where  your  desires  were  laid? 

E'en  when  at  helm  a  course  so  dangerous  moved, 

To  land  your  hopes,  as  my  removal  proved.' 

*  I  not  dispute  (the  royal  youth  replies) 
The  known  perfection  of  your  policies ; 
Nor  in  Achitophel  yet  grudge  or  blame 
The  privilege  that  statesmen  ever  claim ; 
Who  private  interest  never  yet  pursued. 
But  still  pretended  'twas  for  others'  good. 
What  politician  yet  e'er  'scaped  his  fate, 
Who  saving  his  own  neck  not  saved  the  state  ? 
From  hence,  on  every  humorous  wind  that  veer'd, 
With  shifted  sails  a  several  course  you  steer'd. 
What  form  of  sway  did  David  e'er  pursue, 
That  seem'd  like  absolute,  but  sprung  from  you  1 
Who  at  your  instance  quash'd  each  penal  law. 
That  kept  dissenting  factious  Jews  in  awe ; 
And  who  suspends  fix'd  la,ws,  may  abrogate ; 
That  done,  form  new,  and  so  enslave  the  state. 
E'en  property,  whose  champion  now  you  stand, 
And  seem  for  this  the  idol  of  the  land, 
Did  ne'er  sustain  such  violence  before, 
As  when  your  counsel  shut  the  royal  store ; 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  99 

Advice,  that  ruin  to  whole  tribes  procured, 

But  secret  kept  till  your  own  banks  secured. 

Recount  with  this  the  triple  covenant  broke, 

And  Israel  fitted  for  a  foreign  yoke ; 

Nor  here  your  counsels'  fatal  progress  staid, 

But  sent  our  levied  powers  to  Pharaoh's  aid. 

Hence  Tyre  and  Israel,  low  in  ruins  laid, 

And  Egypt,  once  their  scorn,  their  common  terror  made. 

Even  yet  of  such  a  season  can  we  dream. 

When  royal  rights  you  made  your  darling  theme  ; 

For  power  unlimited  could  reasons  draw, 

And  place  prerogative  above  the  law ; 

Which,  on  your  fall  fi*om  office,  grew  unjust, 

The  laws  made  king,  the  king  a  slave  in  trust ; 

Whom  with  state-craft,  to  interest  only  true, 

You  now  accuse  of  ills  contrived  by  you.' 

To  this  HeU's  agent — '  Royal  youth,  fix  here, 
Let  interest  be  the  star  by  which  I  steer. 
Hence  to  repose  your  trust  in  me  was  wise. 
Whose  interest  most  in  your  advancement  lies, 
A  tie  so  firm,  as  always  will  avail. 
When  friendship,  nature,  and  religion  fail ; 
On  ours  the  safety  of  the  crowd  depends, 
Secure  the  crowd,  and  we  obtain  our  ends, 
Whom  I  will  cause  so  far  our  guilt  to  share, 
Till  they  are  made  our  champions  by  their  fear. 
What  opposition  can  your  rival  bring, 
While  Sanhedrims  are  jealous  of  the  king  ? 
His  strength  as  yet  in  David's  friendship  lies. 
And  v/hat  can  David's  self  without  supphes? 
Who  with  exclusive  bills  must  now  dispense. 
Debar  the  heir,  or  starve  in  his  defence ; 
Conditions  which  our  elders  ne'er  will  quit. 
And  David's  justice  never  can  admit. 
Or  forced  by  wants  his  brother  to  betray, 
To  your  ambition  next  he  clears  the  way; 
For  if  succession  once  to  nought  they  bring. 
Their  next  advance  removes  the  present  king : 
Persisting  else  his  senates  to  dissolve. 
In  equal  hazard  shall  his  reign  involve. 
Our  tribes,  whom  Pharaoh's  power  so  much  alarms,' 
Shall  rise  without  their  prince  to  oppose  his  arms ; 
Nor  boots  it  on  what  cause  at  first  they  join, 
Their  troops,  once  up,  are  tools  for  our  design. 


100  ABSALOM  AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

At  least  such  subtle  covenants  shall  be  made, 
Till  peace  itself  is  war  in  masquerade. 
Associations  of  mysterious  sense, 
*    ainst,  but  seeming  for,  the  king's  defence : 
E  en  on  their  courts  of  justice  fetters  draw, 
And  from  our  agents  muzzle  up  their  law. 
By  which  a  conquest,  if  we  fail  to  make, 
'Tis  a  drawn  game  at  worst,  and  we  secure  our  stake.* 

He  said,  and  for  the  dire  success  depends 
On  various  sects,  by  common  guilt  made  friends. 
Whose  heads,  though  ne'er  so  differing  in  their  creed, 
I'  the  point  of  treason  yet  were  well  agreed. 
'MoQgst  these,  extorting  Ishban  first  appears, 
Pursued  by  a  meagre  troop  of  bankrupt  heirs. 
Blest  times,  when  Ishban,  he  whose  occupation 
So  long  has  been  to  cheat,  reforms  the  nation ! 
Ishban  of  conscience  suited  to  his  trade. 
As  good  a  saint  as  usurer  ever  made. 
Yet  Mammon  has  not  so  engross'd  him  quite, 
But  Belial  lays  as  large  a  claim  of  spite  ; 
Who,  for  those  pardons  from  his  prince  he  draws, 
Returns  reproaches,  and  cries  up  the  cause. 
That  year  in  which  the  city  he  did  sway. 
He  left  rebellion  in  a  hopeful  way. 
Yet  his  ambition  once  was  found  so  bold. 
To  offer  talents  of  extorted  gold ; 
Could  David's  wants  have  so  been  bribed,  to  shamo 
And  scandalise  our  peerage  with  his  name  ; 
For  which,  his  dear  sedition  he  'd  forswear. 
And  e'en  turn  loyal  to  be  made  a  peer. 
Next  him,  let  raihng  Rabsheka  have  place. 
So  full  of  zeal,  he  has  no  need  of  grace  ; 
A  saint  that  can  both  flesh  and  spirit  use. 
Alike  haunt  conventicles  and  the  stews  : 
Of  whom  the  question  difficult  appears, 
If  most  i'  the  preachers'  or  the  bawds'  arrears. 
What  caution  could  appear  too  much  in  him 
That  keeps  the  treasure  of  Jerusalem  ! 
Let  David's  brother  but  approach  the  town, 
Double  our  guards,  he  cries,  we  are  undone. 
Protesting  that  he  dares  not  sleep  in  's  bed, 
Lest  he  should  rise  next  morn  without  his  head. 

Next  these,  a  troop  of  busy  spirits  press. 
Of  little  fortunes,  and  of  conscience  less ; 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  101 

With  them  the  tribe,  whose  luxury  had  drain'd 

Their  banks,  in  former  sequestrations  gain'd ; 

Who  rich  and  great  by  past  rebellions  gre\^, 

And  long  to  fish  the  troubled  streams  apew. 

Some  future  hopes,  some  present  payment  draws, 

To  sell  their  conscience  and  espouse  the  cause. 

Such  stipends  those  vile  hirelings  best  befit, 

Priests  without  grace,  and  poets  without  wit. 

Shall  that  false  Hebronite  escape  our  curse, 

Judas,  that  keeps  the  rebels'  pension-purse ; 

Judas,  that  pays  the  treason-writer's  fee, 

Judas,  that  well  deserves  his  nariiesake's  tree ; 

Who  at  Jerusalem's  own  gates  erects 

His  college  for  a  nursery  of  sects  ; 

Young  prophets  with  an  early  care'sebilre^,;  \ 

And  with  the  dung  of  his  own  arts  m'aMl'es. 

What  have  the  men  of  Hebron, hbre  to  do? 

What  part  in  Israel's  promised?  laadbafe  yoa  ? 

Here  Phaleg,  the  lay  Hebronite,  is  coiA^,*  ^  ' 

'Cause,  like  the  rest,  he  could  not  live  at  home  ; 

Who  from  his  own  possessions  could  not  dmin 

An  omer  even  of  Hebronitish  grain ; 

Here  struts  it  like  a  patriot,  and  talks  high 

Of  injured  subjects,  alter'd  property : 

An  emblem  of  that  buzzing  insect  just, 

That  mounts  the  wheel,  and  thinks  she  raises  dust* 

Can  dry  bones  live  ?  or  skeletons  produce 

The  vital  warmth  of  cuckoldising  juice? 

Slim  Phaleg  could,  and,  at  the  table  fed, 

Retura'd  the  grateful  product  to  the  bed. 

A  waiting-man  to  travelling  nobles  chose, 

He  his  own  laws  would  saucily  impose, 

Pill  bastinado'd  back  again  he  went, 

lo  learn  those  manners  he  to  teach  was  sent. 

Chastised  he  ought  to  have  retreated  home, 

But  he  reads  politics  to  Absalom. 

For  never  Hebronite,  though  kick'd  ajid  scom'd. 

To  his  own  country  willingly  return'd. 

— But  leaving  famish'd  Phaleg  to  be  fed, 

And  to  talk  treason  for  his  daily  bread, 

Let  Hebron,  nay,  let  Hell,  produce  a  man 

So  made  for  mischief  as  Ben-Jochanan, 

A  Jew  of  humble  parentage  was  he. 

By  trade  a  Levite,  though  of  low  degree: 


102  ABSALOM  AND   ACHITOPHEL. 

His  pride  no  higher  than  the  desk  aspired, 

But  for  the  drudgery  of  priests  was  hired 

To  read  and  pray  in  linen  ephod  brave, 

And  pick  up  single  shekels  from  the  grave. 

Married  at  last,  but  finding  charge  come  faster, 

He  could  not  hve  by  God,  but  changed  his  master: 

Inspired  by  want,  was  made  a  factious  tool ; 

They  got  a  villain,  and  we  lost  a  fool. 

Still  violent,  whatever  cause  he  took, 

But  most  against  the  party  he  forsook. 

For  renegadoes,  who  ne'er  turn  by  halves, 

Are  bound  in  conscience  to  be  double  knaves. 

So  this  prose  prophet  took  most  monstrous  pains 

To  let  his  master  see  he  earn'd  his  gains. 

»But  as  the  devil  owes  fctll  his  imps  a  shame, 

-He.chose  tbe  i^-jiOsiiate  for  his  proper  theme; 

With  little  pains  he  made,  the  picture  true, 

'Ai>d:fFom  r^fiectiGn  tqok  the  rogue  he  drew. 

A  woiidroas  w'ork,'  to  prove  the  Jewish  nation 

In  every  age  a  murmuring  generation ; 

To  trace  'em  from  their  infancy  of  sinning. 

And  show  'em  factious  from  their  first  beginning; 

To  prove  they  could  rebel,  and  rail,  and  mock, 

Much  to   he  credit  of  the  chosen  flock ; 

A  strong  authority,  which  must  convince 

That  saints  own  no  allegiance  to  their  prince. 

As  'tis  a  leading-card  to  make  a  whore, 

To  prove  her  mother  had  tum'd  up  before. 

But,  teU  me,  did  the  drunken  patriarch  bless 

The  son  that  show'd  his  father's  nakedness  ? 

Such  thanks  the  present  church  thy  pen  will  give, 

Which  proves  rebellion  was  so  primitive. 

Must  ancient  failings  be  examples  made  1 

Then  murtherers  from  Cain  may  learn  their  trade. 

As  thou  the  heathen  and  the  saint  hast  drawn, 

Methinks  the  apostate  was  the  better  man : 

And  thy  hot  father,  waiving  my  respect, 

Not  of  a  mother-church,  but  of  a  sect. 

And  such  he  needs  must  be  of  thy  inditing  ; 

This  comes  of  drinking  asses'  milk  and  writing. 

If  Balak  should  be  call'd  to  leave  his  place, 

As  profit  is  the  loudest  call  of  grace, 

His  temple,  dispossess'd  of  one,  would  be 

Eeplenisn'd  with  seven  devils  more  by  thee. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  103 

Levi,  thou  art  a  load ;  I  '11  lay  thee  down, 
And  show  rebellion  bare,  without  a  gown ; 
Poor  slaves  in  metre,  dull  and  addle-pated. 
Who  rhyme  below  e'en  David's  Psalms  translated ; 
Some  in  my  speedy  pace  I  must  outrun. 
As  lame  Mephibosheth,  the  wizard's  son; 
To  make  qiaick  way,  I  '11  leap  o'er  heavy  blocks, 
Shun  rotten  Uzza,  as  I  would  the  pox ; 
And  hasten  Og  and  Doeg  to  rehearse. 
Two  fools  that  crutch  their  feeble  sense  on  verse ; 
Who,  by  my  muse,  to  all  succeeding  times 
Shall  live,  in  spite  of  their  own  doggrel  rhymes. 

Doeg,  though  without  knowing  how  or  why. 
Made  still  a  blundering  kind  of  melody ; 
Spurr'd  boldly  on,  and  dash'd  through  thick  and  thin, 
Through  sense  and  nonsense,  never  out  nor  in ; 
Free  from  all  naeaning,  whether  good  or  bad, 
And,  in  one  word,  heroically  mad : 
He  was  too  warm  on  picking-work  to  dwell. 
But  fagotted  his  notions  as  they  fell. 
And  if  they  rhymed  and  rattled,  all  was  well. 
Spiteful  he  is  not,  though  he  wrote  a  satire, 
For  still  there  goes  some  thinking  to  ill-nature : 
He  need  no  more  than  birds  and  beasts  to  think, 
All  his  occasions  are  to  eat  and  drink. 
If  he  call  rogue  and  rascal  from  a  garrst. 
He  moans  you  no  more  mischief  than  a  paiTot : 
The  words  for  friend  and  foe  alike  were  made. 
To  fetter  them  in  verse  is  all  his  trade. 
For  almonds,  he  '11  cry  whore  to  his  own  mother : 
And  call  young  Absalom,  king  David's  brother. 
Let  him  be  gaUows-free  by  my  consent. 
And  nothing  suffer  since  he  nothing  paeant ; 
Hanging  supposes  human  soul  and  reason ; 
This  animal 's  below  committing  treason. 
Shall  he  be  hang'd  who  never  could  rebel  ] 
That 's  a  preferment  for  Achitophel. 
The  woman  that  committed  sodomy 
Was  rightly  sentenced  by  the  law  to  die ; 
But  'twas  hard  fate  that  to  the  gallows  led 
The  dog  that  never  heard  the  statute  read. 
Eaihng  in  other  men  may  be  a  crime. 
But  ought  to  pass  for  mere  instinct  in  him: 


104  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

Instinct  lie  follows,  and  no  farther  knows, 
For  to  write  verse  with  him  is  to  transprose. 
'Twere  pity  treason  at  his  door  to  lay, 
Who  makes  heaven's  gate  a  lock  to  its  own  key: 
Let  him  rail  on,  let  his  invective  muse 
Have  four-and-twenty  letters  to  abuse, 
Which,  if  he  jumbles  to  one  line  of  sense, 
Indict  him  of  a  capital  offence. 
In  fireworks  give  him  leave  to  vent  his  spite, 
Those  are  the  only  serpents  he  can  write ; 
The  height  of  his  ambition  is,  we  know, 
But  to  be  master  of  a  puppet-show. 
On  that  one  stage  his  works  may  yet  appear, 
And  a  month's  harvest  keeps  him  all  the  year. 
Now  stop  your  noses,  readers,  all  and  some. 
For  here  's  a  tun  of  midnight  work  to  come, 
Og,  from  a  treason-tavern  rolhng  home ; 
Round  as  a  globe,  and  liquor'd  every  chink. 
Goodly  and  great,  he  sails  behind  his  link. 
With  all  this  bulk  there 's  nothing  lost  in  Og, 
For  every  inch  that  is  not  fool,  is  rogue : 
A  monstrous  mass  of  foul  corrupted  matter, 
As  all  the  devils  had  spew'd  to  make  the  batter. 
When  wine  has  given  him  courage  to  blaspheme. 
He  curses  God,  but  God  before  cursed  him. 
And  if  man  could  have  reason,  none  has  more. 
That  made  his  paunch  so  rich,  and  him  so  poor. 
With  wealth  he  was  not  trusted,  for  Heaven  knew 
What  'twas  of  old  to  pamper  up  a  Jew ; 
To  what  would  he  on  quail  and  pheasant  swell, 
That  even  on  tripe  and  carrion  could  rebel  ? 
But  though  Heaven    made    him    poor   (with  reverence 

speaking). 
He  never  was  a  poet  of  God's  making  ; 
The  midwife  laid  her  hand  on  his  thick  skull 
With  this  prophetic  blessing — Be  thou  dull ! 
Drink,  swear,  and  roar,  forbear  no  lewd.dehght. 
Fit  for  thy  bulk ;  do  anything  but  write : 
Thou  art  of  lasting  make,  like  thoughtless  men, 
A  strong  nativity — but  for  the  pen ; 
Eat  opium,  mingle  arsenic  in  thy  drink, 
StiU  thou  mayst  live,  avoiding  pen  and  ink. 
I  see,  I  see,  'tis  counsel  given  in  vain. 
For  treason  botch'd  in  rhyme  will  be  thy  bano 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  105 

Ehyme  is  the  rock  on  which  thou  art  to  wreck ; 

'Tis  fatal  to  thy  fame  and  to  thy  neck : 

Why  should  thy  metre  good  king  David  blast  ? 

A  psalm  of  his  will  surely  be  thy  last. 

Darest  thou  presume  in  verse  to  meet  thy  foes, 

Thou  whom  the  penny  pamphlet  foil'd  in  prose  ? 

Doeg,  whom  God  for  mankind's  mirth  has  made, 

O'ertops  thy  talent  in  thy  very  trade ; 

Doeg  to  thee — thy  paintings  are  so  coarse — 

A  poet  is,  though  he  's  the  poet's  horse. 

A  double  noose  thou  on  thy  neck  dost  pull. 

For  writing  treason,  and  for  writing  dull. 

To  die  for  faction  is  a  common  evil. 

But  to  be  hang'd  for  nonsense  is  th.e  devil. 

Hadst  thou  the  glories  of  thy  king  express'd, 

Thy  praises  had  been  satire  at  the  best : 

But  thou,  in  clumsy  verse,  unlick'd,  unpointed, 

Hast  shamefully  defied  the  Lord's  anointed. 

I  wiU  not  rake  the  dunghill  of  thy  crimes, 

For  who  would  read  thy  life  that  reads  thy  rhymes  ? 

But  of  king  David's  foes,  be  this  the  doom. 

May  all  be  hke  the  young  man  Absalom ! 

And,  for  my  foes,  may  this  their  blessing  be,— 

To  talk  like  Doeg,  and  to  write  like  thee. 
Achitophel  each  rank,  degree,  and  age. 

For  various  ends  neglects  not  to  engage ; 

The  wise  and  rich,  for  purse  and  counsel  brought, 

The  fools  and  beggars,  for  their  number  sought : 

Who  yet  not  only  on  the  town  depends. 

For  even  in  court  the  faction  had  its  friends ; 

These  thought  the  places  they  possess'd  too  small, 

And  in  their  hearts  wish'd  court  and  king  to  fall ; 

Whose  names  the  muse  disdaining,  holds  i'  the  dark, 

Thrust  in  the  villain  herd  without  a  mark ; 

With  parasites  and  libel-spawning  imps. 

Intriguing  fops,  dull  jesters,  and  worse  pimps. 

Disdain  the  rascal  rabble  to  pursue,  . 

Their  set  cabals  are  yet  a  viler  crew ; 

See  where  involved  in  common  smoke  they  sit, 

Some  for  our  mirth,  some  for  our  satire  fit : 

These  gloomy,  thoughtful,  and  on  mischief  bent, 

While  those  for  mere  good  fellowship  frequent 

The  appointed  club,  can  let  sedition  pass. 

Sense,  nonsense,  anything  to  employ  the  glass ; 


106  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEIfc 

And  wlio  believe,  in  their  dull  honest  hearts, 
The  rest  talk  treason  but  to  show  their  parts; 
Wno  ne'er  had  wit  or  will  for  mischief  yet, 
But  pleased  to  be  reputed  of  a  set. 

But  in  the  sacred  annals  of  our  plot, 
Industrious  Arod  never  be  forgot : 
The  labours  of  this  midnight-magistrate, 
May  vie  with  Corah's  to  preserve  the  state. 
In  search  of  arms  he  fail'd  not  to  lay  hold 
On  war's  most  powerful,  dangerous  weapon,  gold. 
And  last,  to  take  from  Jebusites  aU  odds, 
Their  altars  pillaged, — stole  their  very  gods. 
Oft  would  he  cry,  w^ien  treasure  he  surprised, 
'Tis  Baalish  gold  in  David's  coin  disguised ; 
"Which  to  his  house  with  richer  reliques  came, 
"W  hile  lumber  idols  only  fed  the  flame : 
For  our  wise  rabble  ne'er  took  pains  to  inquire. 
What  'twas  he  burnt,  so  't  made  a  rousing  fire. 
With  which  our  elder  was  enrich'd  no  more 
Than  false  Gehazi  with  the  Syrian's  store ; 
So  poor,  that  when  our  choosing-tribes  were  met, 
Even  for  his  stinking  votes  he  ran  in  debt ; 
For  meat  the  wicked,  and,  as  authors  think, 
The  saints  he  choused  for  his  electing  drink ; 
Thus  every  shift  and  subtle  method  past, 
And  all  to  be  no  Zaken  at  the  last. 

Now,  raised  on  Tyre's  sad  ruins — Pharaoh's  pride 
Soar'd  high,  his  legions  threatening  far  and  wide ; 
As  when  a  battering  storm  engender'd  high. 
By  winds  upheld,  hangs  hovering  in  the  sky. 
Is  gazed  upon  by  every  trembling  swain. 
This  for  his  vineyard  fears,  and  that  his  grain ; 
For  blooming  plants,  and  flowers  new  opening,  these ; 
For  lambs  yean'd  lately,  and  far-labouring  bees : 
To  guard  his  stock  each  to  the  gods  does  call. 
Uncertain  where  the  fire-charged  clouds  will  fall : 
Ev'n  so  the  doubtful  nations  watch  his  arms. 
With  terror  each  expecting  his  alarms. 
Where,  Judah,  where  was  now  thy  lion's  roar  ! 
Thou  only  couldst  the  captive  lands  restore ; 
But  thou,  with  inbred  broils  and  faction  press'd, 
From  Egypt  need'st  a  guardian  with  the  rest. 
Thy  prince  from  Sanhedrims  no  trust  allow'd. 
Too  much  the  representers  of  the  crowd, 


ABSAI.OM  AND   ACHITOPHEL.  107 

Who  for  their  own  defence  give  no  supply, 

But  what  the  crown's  prerogatives  must  buy : 

As  if  their  monarch's  rights  to  violate 

More  needful  were,  than  to  preserve  the  state  ! 

From  present  dangers  they  divert  their  care, 

And  all  their  fears  are  of  the  royal  heir ; 

Whom  now  the  reigning  malice  of  his  foes, 

Unjudged  would  sentence,  and  ere  crown'd  depose. 

Religion  the  pretence,  but  their  decree 

To  bar  his  reign,  whate'er  his  faith  shall  be  ! 

By  Sanhedrims  and  clam'rous  crowds  thus  press'd, 

AVhat  passions  rent  the  righteous  David's  breast  1 

Who  knows  not  how  to  oppose  or  to  comply, 

Unjust  to  grant,  and  dangerous  to  deny  ! 

How  near  in  this  dark  juncture  Israel's  fate, 

Whose  peace  one  sole  expedient  could  create, 

Which  yet  the  extremest  virtue  did  require. 

Even  of  that  prince  whose  downfal  they  conspire  ! 

His  absence  David  does  with  tears  advise    * 

To  appease  their  rage, — undaunted  he  complies. 

Thus  he,  who,  prodigal  of  blood  and  ease, 

A  royal  life  exposed  to  winds  and  seas. 

At  once  contending  with  the  waves  and  fire. 

And  heading  danger  in  the  wars  of  Tyre, 

Inglorious  now  forsakes  his  native  sand, 

And  like  fi'i  exile  quits  the  promised  land  ! 

Our  mon     jh  scarce  from  pressing  tears  refrains, 

And  painfiiily  his  royal  state  maintains, 

Who  now  embracing  on  the  extremest  shore 

Almost  revokes  what  he  enjoined  before ; 

Concludes  at  last  more  trust  to  be  allowed 

To  storms  and  seas,  than  to  the  raging  crowd  ! 

Forbear,  rash  muse,  the  parting  scene  to  draw. 

With  silence  charm'd  as  deep  as  theirs  that  saw ! 

Not  only  our  attending  nobles  weep. 

But  hardy  sailors  swell  with  tears  the  deep  ! 

The  tide  restrain'd  her  course,  and  more  amazed, 

The  twin-stars  on  the  royal  brothers  gazed : 

While  this  sole  fear 

Does  trouble  to  our  suffering  hero  bring,         • 
Lest  next  the  popular  rage  oppress  the  king  ! 
Thus  parting,  each  for  the  other's  danger  grieved, 
The  shore  the  king,  and  seas  the  prince  received. 


108  ABSALOM   AND   ACHITOPHEU 

Go,  injured  hero,  while  propitious  gales, 
Soft  as  thy  consoi-t's  breath,  inspire  thy  sails ; 
AVell  may  she  trust  her  beauties  on  a  flood, 
Where  thy  triumphant  fleets  so  oft  have  rode  ! 
Safe  on  thy  breast  reclined,  her  rest  be  deep, 
Rock'd  like  a  Nereid  by  the  waves  asleep ; 
While  happiest  dreams  her  fancy  entertain, 
And  to  Elysian  fields  convert  the  main  ! 
Go,  injured  hero,  while  the  shores  of  Tyre 
At  thy  approach  so  silent  shall  admire, 
AVho  on  thy  thunder  still  their  thoughts  employ, 
And  greet  thy  landing  with  a  trembling  joy. 

On  heroes  thus  the  prophet's  fate  is  thrown, 
Admired  by  every  nation  but  their  own ; 
Yet  while  our  factious  Jews  his  worth  deny, 
Their  aching  conscience  gives  their  tongue  the  lie. 
Even  in  the  worst  of  men  the  noblest  parts 
Confess  him,  and  he  triumphs  in  their  heai'ts, 
Whom  to  his  king  the  best  respects  commend 
Of  subject,  soldier,  kinsman,  prince  and  friend; 
All  sacred  names  of  most  divine  esteem, 
And  to  perfection  all  sustain'd  by  him, 
Wise,  just,  and  constant,  courtly  without  art, 
Swift  to  discern  and  to  reward  desert ; 
No  hour  of  his  in  fruitless  ease  destroy'd. 
But  on  the  noblest  subjects  still  employ'd : 
Whose  steady  soul  ne'er  learnt  to  separate 
Between  his  monarch's  interest  and  the  state. 
But  hea]3S  those  blessings  on  the  royal  head, 
Which  he  well  knows  must  be  on  subjects  shed. 

On  what  pretence  could  then  the  vulgar  rage 
Against  his  worth,  and  native  rights  engage  ? 
Religious  fears  their  argument  are  made, 
Religious  fears  his  sacred  rights  invade  ! 
Of  future  superstition  they  complain, 
And  Jebusitic  worship  in  his  reign  : 
With  such  alarms  his  foes  the  crowd  deceive, 
AVith  dangers  fright  which  not  themselves  believe. 

Since  nothing  can  our  sacred  rites  remove, 
Whate'er  tlfe  faith  of  the  successor  prove : 
Our  Jews  their  ark  shall  undisturb'd  retain. 
At  least  while  their  religion  is  their  gain. 
Who  know  by  old  experience  Baal's  commands 
Not  only  claim'd  their  conscience,  but  their  lands; 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  109 

They  grudge  God's  tithes, — ^how  therefore  shall  they  yield 

All  idol  full  possession  of  the  field  \ 

Grant  such  a  prince  enthroned,  we  must  confess 

The  people's  sufierings  than  that  monarch's  less, 

Who  must  to  hard  conditions  still  be  bound, 

And  for  his  quiet  with  the. crowd  compound; 

Or  should  his  thoughts  to  tyranny  incline, 

Where  are  the  means  to  compass  the  design  ? 

Our  crown's  revenues  are  too  short  a  store, 

And  jealous  Sanhedrims  would  give  no  more. 

As  vain  our  fears  of  Egypt's  potent  aid, 
Not  so  has  Pharaoh  learnt  ambition's  trade, 
Nor  ever  with  such  measures  can  comply 
As  shock  the  common  rules  of  policy ; 
None  dread  like  him  the  growth  of  Israel's  king. 
And  he  alone  sufficient  aids  can  bring ; 
Who  knows  that  prince  to  Egypt  can  give  law, 
Tliat  on  our  stubborn  tribes  his  yoke  coiild  draw : 
At  such  profound  expense  he  has  not  stood, 
Nor  dyed  for  this  his  hands  so  deep  in  blood ; 
Would  ne'er  through  wrong  and  right  his  progress  take, 
Grudge  his  own  rest,  and  keep  the  world  awake. 
To  fix  a  lawless  prince  on  Judah's  throne, 
First  to  invade  our  rights,  and  then  his  own ; 
His  dear-gain'd  conquests  cheaply  to  despoil, 
And  reap  the  harvest  of  his  crimes  and  toil. 
We  grant  his  wealth  vast  as  our  ocean's  sand. 
And  curse  its  fatal  influence  on  our  land, 
AVhich  our  bribed  Jews  so  numerously  partake. 
That  even  an  host  his  p"ensioners  would  make ; 
From  these  deceivers  our  divisions  spring, 
Our  weakness,  and  the  growth  of  Egypt's  king ; 
These,  with  pretended  friendship  to  the  state. 
Our  crowd's  suspicion  of  their  prince  create, 
Both  pleased  and  frighten'd  with  the  specious  cry, 
To  guard  their  sacred  rites  and  property : 
To  ruin,  thus  the  chosen  flock  are  sold. 
While  wolves  are  ta'en  for  guardians  of  the  fold ; 
Seduced  by  these  we  groundlessly  complain. 
And  loathe  the  manna  of  a  gentle  reign : 
Thus  our  forefathers'  crooked  paths  are  trod, 
We  trust  our  prince  no  more  than  they  their  God. 
But  all  in  vain  our  reasoning  prophets  preach 
To  those  whom  sad  experience  ne'er  could  teach, 


110  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

Who  can  commence  new  broila  in  bleeding  scars, 
And  fresh  remembrance  of  intestine  wars ; 
When  the  same  household  mortal  foes  did  yield, 
And  brothers  stain'd  with  brothers'  bloo^J  the  field ; 
When  sons'  cursed  steel  the  fathers'  gore  did  stain, 
And  mothers  mourn'd  for  sons  by  fathers  slain  ! 
When,  thick  as  Egypt's  locusts  on  the  sand, 
Our  tribes  lay  slaughtered  through  the  promised  land, 
Whose  few  survivors  with  worse  fate  remain 
To  drag  the  bondage  of  a  tyrant's  reign  : 
Which  scene  of  woes,  unknowing,  we  renew. 
And  madly,  e'en  those  ills  we  fear,  pursue ; 
While  Pharaoh  laughs  at  our  domestic  broils. 
And  safely  crowds  his  tents  with  nations'  spoils. 
Yet  our  fierce  Sanhedrim,  in  restless  rage, 
Against  our  absent  hero  still  engage. 
And  chiefly  urge,  such  did  their  frenzy  prove, 
The  only  suit  their  prince  forbids  to  move, 
Which  till  obtain'd,  they  cease  affairs  of  state. 
And  real  dangers  waive  for  groundless  hate. 
Long  David's  patience  waits  relief  to  bring, 
With  all  the  indulgt;rjce  of  a  lawful  king. 
Expecting  till  the  troubled  waves  would  cease, 
But  found  the  raging  billows  still  increase. 
The  crowd,  whose  insolence  forbearance  swells, 
While  he  forgives  too  far,  almost  rebels. 
At  last  his  deep  resentments  silence  broke ; 
Th'  imperial  palace  shook,  while  thus  he  spoke : — • 
^  Then  Justice  wake,  and  Rigour  take  her  time, 
For,  lo  !  our  mercy  is  become  our  crime. 
While  halting  Punishment  her  stroke  delays. 
Our  sovereign  right,  Heaven's  sacred  trust,  decays  ! 
For  whose  support  e'en  subjects'  interest  calls ; 
Woe  to  that  kingdom  where  the  monarch  falls ! 
That  prince  who  yields  the  least  of  regal  sway. 
So  far  his  people's  freedom  does  betray. 
Right  lives  by  law,  and  law  subsists  by  power ; 
Disarm  the  shepherd,  wolves  the  flock  devour. 
Hard  lot  of  empire  o'er  a  stubborn  race, 
Which  Heaven  itself  in  vain  has  tried  with  grace  ! 
When  will  our  reason's  long-charm'd  eyes  unclose, 
And  Israel  judge  between  her  friends  and  foes  ] 
When  shall  we  see  expired  deceivers'  sway, 
And  credit  what  our  God  and  monarchs  ^ay  ? 


1 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  Ul 

Dissembled  patriots  bribed  with  Egypt's  gold, 
E'en  Sanhedrims  in  blind  obedience  hold ; 
Those  patriots,  falsehood  in  their  actions  see, 
And  judge,  by  the  pernicious  fruit,  the  tree : 
If  aught  for  which  so  loudly  they  declaim, 
Eehgion,  laws,  and  freedom,  were  their  aim ; 
Our  senates  in  due  methods  they  had  led 
To  avoid  those  mischiefs  which  they  seem'd  to  dread ; 
But  first,  ere  yet  they  propp'd  the  sinking  state. 
To  impeach  and  charge,  as  urged  by  private  hate, 
Proves  that  they  ne'er  believed  the  fears  they  press'd, 
Bat  barbarously  destroy'd  the  nation's  rest ! 
Oh  !  whither  will  ungovern'd  senates  drive, 
And  to.  what  bounds  Hcentious  votes  arrive  1 
When  their  injustice  we  are  press'd  to  share. 
The  monarch  urged  to  exclude  the  lawful  heir ; 
Are  princes  thus  distinguish'd  from  the  crowd, 
And  this  the  privilege  of  royal  blood  '? 
But  grant  we  should  confirm  the  wrongs  they  press, 
His  sufferings  yet  were  than  the  people's  less  ; 
Condemn'd  for  life  the  murdering  sword  to  wield. 
And  on  their  heirs  entail  a  bloody  field : 
Thus  madly  their  own  freedom  they  betray, 
And  for  the  oppression  which  they  fear  make  way ; 
Succession  fix'd  by  Heaven,  the  kingdom's  bar, 
Which  once  dissolved,  admits  the  flood  of  war  ; 
Waste,  rapine,  spoil,  without  the  assault  begin. 
And  our  mad  tribes  supplant  the  fence  within. 
Since  then  their  good  they  will  not  understand, 
'Tis  time  to  take  the  monarch's  power  in  hand ; 
Authority  and  force  to  join  with  skill, 
And  save  the  lunatics  against  their  wiU. 
The  same  rough  means  that  'suage  the  crowd,  appease 
Our  senate's,  raging  with  the  crowd's  disease. 
Henceforth  unbiass'd  measures  let  them  draw 
From  no  false  gloss,  but  genuine  text  of  law ; 
Nor  urge  those  crimes  upon  religion's  score. 
Themselves  so  much  in  Jebusites  abhor. 
Whom  laws  convict,  and  only  they,  shall  bleed, 
Nor  Pharisees  by  Pharisees  be  freed. 
Impartial  justice  from  our  throne  shall  shower, 
All  shall  have  right,  and  we  our  sovereign  power.' 
He  said, — the  attendants  heard  with  awfiil  joy, 
And  glad  presages  their  fix'd  thoughts  employ. 


112  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL, 

From  Hebron  now  the  suffering  heir  returned, 

A  reahn  that  long  with  civil  discord  mourn'dj 

Till  his  approach,  like  some  arriving  god, 

Composed  and  heal'd  the  place  of  his  abode ; 

The  deluge  check'd,  that  to  Judea  spread, 

And  stopp'd  sedition  at  the  fountain's  head. 

Thus  in  forgiving  David's  paths  he  drives, 

And  chased  from  Israel,  Israel's  peace  contrives : 

The  field  confess'd  his  power  in  arms  before, 

And  seas  proclaim'd  his  triumphs  to  the  shore ; 

As  nobly  has  his  sway  in  Hebron  shown. 

How  fit  to  inherit  godlike  David's  throne. 

Through  Sion's  streets  his  glad  arrival 's  spread, 

And  conscious  Faction  shrinks  her  snaky  head  ; 

His  train  their  sufferings  think  o'erpaid  to  see 

The  crowd's  applause  with  virtue  once  agree. 

Success  charms  all,  but  zeal  for  worth  distress'd, 

A  virtue  proper  to  the  brave  and  best ; 

'Mongst  whom  was  Jothran,  Jothran  always  bent 

To  serve  the  crown,  and  loyal  by  descent, 

"Whose  constancy  so  firm,  and  conduct  just, 

Deserved  at  once  two  royal  masters'  trust ; 

Who  Tyre's  proud  arms  had  manfully  withstood 

On  seas,  and  gather'd  laurels  from  the  flood ; 

Of  learning  yet  no  portion  was  denied, 

Friend  to  the  muses  and  the  nuises'  pride. 

Nor  can  Benaiah's  worth  forgotten  lie, 

Of  steady  soul  when  public  storms  were  high ; 

Whose  conduct,  while  the  Moor  fierce  onsets  made, 

Secured  at  once  our  honour  and  our  trade. 

Such  were  the  chiefs  who  most  his  sufferings  moum'd. 

And  view'd  with  silent  joy  the  prince  return'd ; 

While  those  that  sought  his  absence  to  betray, 

Press  first  their  nauseous  false  respects  to  pay ; 

Him  still  the  officious  hypocrites  molest, 

And  with  malicious  duty  break  his  rest. 

While  real  transports  thus  his  friends  employ, 
And  foes  are  loud  in  their  dissembled  joy. 
His  triumphs  so  resounded  far  and  near, 
Miss'd  nob  his  young  ambitious  rival's  ear; 
And  as  when  joyful  hunters'  clam'rous  train 
Some  slumbering  lion  wakes  in  Moab's  plain, 
Who  oft  had  forced  the  bold  assailants  yield, 
And  scattered  his  pursuers  through  the  field, 


ABSALOM  AND   ACHITOPHEL.  113 

Disdaining,  furls  his  mane  and  tears  the  ground, 

His  eyes  inflaming  all  the  desert  round, 

With  roar  of  seas  directs  his  chasers'  way, 

Provokes  from  far,  and  dares  them  to  the  fray ; 

Such  rage  storm'd  now  in  Absalom's  fierce  breast, 

Such  indignation  his  fired  eyes  confess'd. 

Where  now  was  the  instructor  of  his  pride  ? 

Slept  the  old  pilot  in  so  rough  a  tide  1 
,  Whose  wiles  had  from  the  happy  shore  betray'd, 
'  And  thus  on  shelves  the  credulous  youth  convey'd. 

In  deep  revolving  thoughts  he  weighs  his  state. 

Secure  of  craft,  nor  doubts  to  bafile  fate  ; 

At  least,  if  his  storm'd  bark  must  go  adrift, 

To  baulk  his  charge,  and  for  himself  to  shift. 

In  which  his  dextrous  wit  had  oft  been  shown. 

And  in  the  wreck  of  kingdoms  saved  his  own  ; 

But  now  with  more  than  common  danger  press'd. 

Of  various  resolutions  stands  possess'd, 

Perceives  the  crowd's  unstable  zeal  decay. 

Lest  their  recanting  chief  the  cause  betray, 

Who  on  a  father's  grace  his  hopes  may  ground. 

And  for  his  pardon  with  their  heads  compound. 

Him,  therefore,  ere  his  fortune  shp  her  tiine, 

The  statesman  plots  to  engage  in  some  bold  crime 

Past  pardon,  whether  to  attempt  his  bed. 

Or  threat  with  open  arms  the  royal  head. 

Or  other  daring  method,  and  unjust. 

That  may  confirm  him  in  the  people's  trust. 

But  failing  thus  to  ensnare  him,  nor  secure 

How  long  his  foil'd  ambition  may  endure, 

Plots  next- to  lay  him  by  as  past  his  date, 

And  try  some  new  pretender's  luckier  fate  ; 

Whose  hopes  with  equal  toil  he  would  pursue. 

Nor  cares  what  claimer  's  crown'd,  except  the  true. 

Wake,  Absalom,  approaching  ruin  shun. 

And  see,  oh,  see,  for  whom  thou  art  undone  ! 

How  are  thy  honours  and  thy  fame  betray'd. 

The  property  of  desperate  villains  made  ! 

Lost  power  and  conscious  fears  their  crimes  create, 

And  guilt  in  them  was  little  less  than  fate  ; 

But  why  shouldst  thou,  from  every  grievance  free, 

Forsake  thy  vineyards  for  their  stormy  sea  ] 

For  thee  did  Canaan's  milk  and  honey  tlow, 
•  Love  dress'd  thy  bowers,  and  laurels  sought  thy  brow, 
12 


114  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

Preferment,  wealth,  and  power  thy  vassals  were, 

And  of  a  monarch  all  things  but  the  care. 

Oh,  should  our  crimes  again  that  curse  draw  down. 

And  rebel-arms  once  more  attempt  the  crown, 

Sure  ruin  waits  unhappy  Absalon, 

Alike  by  conquest  or  d!efeat  undone  ! 

Who  could  relentless  see  such  youth  and  charms 

Expire  with  wretched  fate  in  impious  arms  1 

A  prince  so  form'd,  with  earth's  and  Heaven's  applause, 

To  triumph  o'er  crown'd  heads  in  David's  cause : 

Or  grant  him  victor,  still  his  hopes  must  fail, 

Who  conquering  would  not  for  himself  prevail ; 

The  faction,  whom  he  trusts  for  future  sway, 

Kim  and  the  public  would  ahke  betray  ; 

Amongst  themselves  divide  the  captive  state, 

And  found  their  hydra-empire  in  his  fate  I 

Thus  having  beat  the  clouds  with  painful  flight. 

The  pitied  youth,  with  sceptres  in  his  sight, 

(So  Rave  their  cruel  politics  decreed,) 

Must  by  that  crew,  that  made  him  guilty,  bleed  ! 

For,  could  their  pride  brook  any  prince's  sway, 

Whom  but  mild  David  would  they  choose  to  obey  ? 

Who  once  at  such  a  gentle  reign  repine, 

The  fall  of  monarchy  itself  design  ; 

From  hate  to  that  their  reformations  spring, 

And  David  not  their  grievance,  but  the  king. 

Seized  now  with  panic  fear  the  faction  lies. 

Lest  this  clear  truth  strike  Absalom's  charm'd  eyes, 

Lest  he  perceive,  from  long  enchantment  free, 

What  all  beside  the  flatter'd  youth  must  see. 

But  whate'er  doubts  his  troubled  bosom  swell,'. 

Fair  carriage  still  became  Achitophel, 

Who  now  an  envious  festival  installs. 

And  to  survey  their  strength  the  faction  calls, 

Which  fraud,  religious  worship  too  must  gild  ; 

But,  oh,  how  weakly  does  sedition  build  ! 

For,  lo  !  the  royal  mandate  issues  forth, 

Dashing  at  once  their  treason,  zeal,  and  mirth  1 

So  have  I  seen  disastrous  chance  invade, 

Where  careful  emmets  had  their  forage  laid, 

Whether  fierce  Yulcan's  rage  the  furzy  plain 

Had  seized,  engender'd  by  some  careless  swain, 

Or  swelling  Neptune  lawless  inroads  made, 

And  to  their  cell  of  store  his  flood  convey'd  ; 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  115 

The  commonwealth  broke  up,  distracted  go, 
And  in  wild  haste  their  loaded  mates  overthrow  : 
Even  so  our  scatter'd  guests  confusedly  meet, 
With  boil'd,  baked,  roast,  all  justling  in  the  street ; 
Dejected  all,  and  ruefully  dismay'd. 
For  shekel,  without  treat  or  treason  paid. 

Sedition's  dark  eclipse  now  fainter  shows, 
]\Iore  bright  each  hour  the  royal  planet  grows, 
Of  force  the  clouds  of  envy  to  disperse, 
In  kind  conjunction  of  assisting  stars. 

Here,  labouring  muse,  those  glorious  chiefs  relate, 
That  turn'd  the  doubtful  scale  of  David's  fate ; 
The  rest  of  that  illustrious  band  rehearse. 
Immortalised  in  laurell'd  Asaph's  verse  : 
Hard  task  !  yet  will  not  I  thy  flight  recall, 
View  heaven,  and  then  enjoy  thy  glorious  faU. 

First  write  Bezaliel,  whose  illustrious  name 
Forestalls  our  praise,  and  gives  his  poet  fame. 
The  Kenites'  rocky  province  his  command, 
A  barren  limb  of  feAile  Canaan's  land  ; 
Which  for  its  generous  natives  yet  could  be 
Held  worthy  such  a  president  as  he  ! 
Bezaliel  with  each  grace  and  virtue  fraught, 
Serene  his  looks,  serene  his  life  and  thought ; 
On  whom  so  largely  nature  heap'd  her  store. 
There  scarce  remain'd  for  arts  to  give  him  more  ! 
To  aid  the  crown  and  state  his  greatest  zeal. 
His  second  care  that  service  to  conceal ; 
Of  dues  observant,  firm  to  every  trust : 
And  to  the  needy  always  more  than  just : 
Who  truth  from  specious  falsehood  can  divide. 
Has  all  the  gownsmen's  skill  without  their  pride  ; 
Thus  crown'd  with  worth  from  heights  of  honour  won, 
Sees  all  his  glories  copied  in  his  son. 
Whose  forward  fame  should  every  muse  engage. 
Whose  youth  boasts  skill  denied  to  others'  age. 
Men,  manners,  language,  books  of  noblest  kind, 
Already  are  the  conquest  of  his  mind  : 
Whose  loyalty  before  its  date  was  prime, 
Nor  waited  the  dull  course  of  rolling  time : 
The  monster  faction  early  he  dismay'd. 
And  David's  cause  long  since  confess'd  his  aid. 

Brave  Abdael  o'er  the  prophets'  school  was  placed ; 
Abdael,  with  all  his  father's  virtue  graced  ; 


116  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL. 

A  hero,  who,  while  stars  look'd  wondering  down, 
Without  one  Hebrew's  blood  restored  the  crown. 
That  praise  was  his  ;  what  therefore  did  remain 
For  following  chiefs,  but  boldly  to  maintain 
That  crown  restored  ;  and  in  this  rank  of  fame, 
Brave  Abdael  with  the  first  a  place  must  claim. 
Proceed,  illustrious,  happy  chief,  proceed, 
Foreseize  the  garlands  for  thy  brow  decreed, 
While  the  inspired  tribe  attend  with  noblest  strain 
To  register  the  glories  thou  shalt  gain  : 
For  sure  the  dew  shall  Gilboah's  hills  forsake, 
And  Jordan  mix  his  stream  with  Sodom's  lake, 
Or  seas  Betired  their  secret  stores  disclose, 
And  to  the  sun  their  scaly  brood  expose. 
Or  swell'd  above  the  clifts  their  billows  raise, 
Before  the  muses  leave  their  patron's  praise. 

Eliab  our  next  labour  does  invite, 
And  hard  the  task  to  do  Eliab  right : 
Long  with  the  royal  wanderer  he  roved. 
And  firm  in  all  the  turns  of  fortune  proved  ! 
Such  ancient  service  and  desert  so  large. 
Well  claim'd  the  royal  household  for  his  charge. 
His  age  with  only  one  mild  heiress  bless'd. 
In  all  the  bloom  of  smiling  nature  dress'd, 
And  bless'd  again  to  see  his  flower  allied 
To  David's  stock,  and  made  young  Othniel's  bride  ! 
The  bright  restorer  of  his  father's  youth. 
Devoted  to  a  son's  and  subject's  truth : 
Resolved  to  bear  that  prize  of  duty  home. 
So  bravely  sought,  while  sought  by  Absalom. 
Ah  prince  !  the  illustrious  planet  of  thy  birth. 
And  thy  more  powerful  virtue  guard  thy  worth ; 
That  no  Achitophel  thy  "ruin  boast ! 
Israel  too  much  in  one  such  wreck  has  lost. 

E'en  envy  must  consent  to  Helen's  worth. 
Whose  soul,  though  Egypt  glories  in  his  birth, 
Could  for  our  captive  ark  its  zeal  retain. 
And  Pharaoh's  altars  in  thejr  pomp  disdain : 
To  slight  his  gods  was  small ;  with  nobler  pride, 
He  all  the  allurements  of  his  court  defied : 
Whom  profit  nor  example  could  betray, 
But  Israel's  friend,  and  true  to  David's  sway. 
What  acts  of  favour  in  his  province  fall, 
On  merit  he  confers,  and  freely  all. 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  117 

Our  list  of  nobles  next  let  Amri  grace, 
Whose  merits  claim'd  the  Abethdin's  high  place ; 
Who,  with  a  loyalty  that  did  excel, 
Brought  all  the  endowments  of  AchitopheL 
Sincere  was  Amri,  and  not  only  knew, 
But  Israel's  sanctions  into  practice  drew  ; 
Our  laws,  that  did  a  boundless  ocean  seem, 
Were  coasted  all,  and  fathom'd  all  by  him. 
No  rabbin  speaks  hke  him  their  mystic  sense, 
So  just,  and  with  such  charms  of  eloquence  : 
To  whom  the  double  blessing  does  belong. 
With  Moses'  inspiration,  Aaron's  tongue. 

Than  Sheva  none  more  loyal  zeal  have  shown, 
Wakeful  as  Judah's  lion  for  the  crown, 
Who  for  that  cause  still  combats  in  his  age. 
For  which  his  youth  with  danger  did  engage. 
In  vain  our  factious  priests  the  cant  revive ; 
In  vain  seditious  scribes  with  libel  strive 
To  inflame  the  crowd  ;  while  he  with  watchful  eye 
Observes,  and  shoots  their  treasons  as  they  fly ; 
Their  weekly  frauds  his  keen  replies  detect ; 
He  undeceives  more  fast  than  they  infect. 
So  Moses  when  the  pest  on  legions  prey'd. 
Advanced  his  signal,  and  the  plagj^  was  stay'd. 

Once  more,  my  fainting  muse,  thy  pinions  try, 
And  strength's  exhausted  store  let  love  supply. 
What  tribute,  Asaph,  shall  we  render  thee  1 
We  '11  crown  thee  with  a  wreath  from  thy  own  tree  ! 
Thy  laurel  grove  no  envy's  flash  can  blast ; 
The  song  of  Asaph  shall  for  ever  last. 
With  wonder  late  posterity  shall  dwell 
On  Absalom  and  false  Achitophel : 
Thy  strains  shall  be  our  slumbering  prophets'  dream, 
And  when  our  Sion  virgins  sing  their  theme. 
Our  jubilees  shall  with  thy  verse  be  graced ; 
The  song  of  Asaph  shall  for  ever  last. 
How  fierce  his  satire  loosed ;  restrain'd,  how  tame; 
How  tender  of  the  offending  young  man's  fame  I 
How  well  his  worth,  and  brave  adventures  styled; 
Just  to  his  virtues,  to  his  error  mild. 
No  page  of  thine  that  fears  the  strictest  view, 
But  teems  with  just  reproof,  or  praise  as  duo ; 
Not  Eden  could  a  fairer  prospect  yield. 
All  paradise  without  one  barren  field ; 
12* 


118  ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL, 

Whose  wit  the  censures  of  his  foes  has  pass'd ; 
The  song  of  Asaph  shall  for  ever  last. 
What  praise  for  such  rich  strains  shall  we  allow  ? 
What  just  rewards  the  grateful  crown  bestow] 
While  bees  in  flowers  rejoice,  and  flowers  in  dew, 
While  stars  and  fountains  to  their  course  are  true ; 
While  Judah's  throne,  and  Sion's  rock  stand  fast, 
The  song  of  Asaph  and  the  fame  shall  last. 

Stni  Hebron's  honour'd  happy  soil  retains 
Our  royal  hero's  beauteous  dear  remains ; 
Who  now  sails  off"  with  winds  nor  wishes  slack, 
To  bring  his  sufierings'  bright  companion  back. 
But  ere  such  transport  can  our  sense  employ, 
A  bitter  grief  must  poison  half  our  joy ; 
Nor  can  our  coasts  restored  those  blessings  sec 
Without  a  bribe  to  envious  destiny  ! 
Cursed  Sodom's  doom  for  ever  fix  the  tide 
Where  by  inglorious  chance  the  vahant  died. 
Give  not  insulting  Askalon  to  know, 
'Not  let  Gath's  daughters  triumph  in  our  woe ! 
No  sailor  with  the  news  swell  Egypt's  pride, 
By  what  inglorious  fate  our  valiant  died ! 
Weep,  Arnon  !  Jordan,  weep  thy  fountains  dry ! 
While  Sion's  rock  diss(^es  for  a  supply. 

Calm  were  the  elements,  night's  silence  deep, 
The  waves  scarce  murmuring,  and  the  winds  asleep ; 
Yet  fate  for  ruin  takes  so  still  an  hour. 
And  treacherous  sands  the  princely  bark  devour; 
Then  death  unworthy  seized  a  generous  race, 
To  virtue's  scandal,  and  the  stars'  disgrace ! 
Oh !  had  the  indulgent  Powers  vouchsafed  to  yield. 
Instead  of  faithless  shelves,  a  listed  field ; 
A  listed  field  of  Heaven's  and  David's  foes, 
Fierce  as  the  troops  that  did  his  youth  oppose. 
Each  life  had  on  his  slaughter'd  heap  retired, 
Not  tamely,  and  unconquering  thus  expired: 
But  destiny  is  now  their  only  foe. 
And  dying,  even  o'er  that  they  triumph  too ; 
With  loud  last  breaths  their  master's  'scape  applaud, 
Of  whom  kind  force  could  scarce  the  fates  defraud ; 
Who  for  such  followers  lost,  oh,  matchless  mind ! 
At  his  own  safety  now  almost  repined ! 
Say,  royal  Sir,  by  all  your  fame  in  arms, 
Your  praise  in  peace,  and  by  Urania's  charms ; 


ABSALOM  AND  ACHITOPHEL.  119 

If  all  your  sufferings  past  so  nearly  press 'd, 

Or  pierced  with  half  so  painful  grief  your  breast  ? 

Thus  some  diviner  muse  her  hero  forms, 
Not  soothed  with  soft  delights,  but  toss'd  in  storms. 
Nor  stretch 'd  on  roses  in  the  myrtle  grove, 
Nor  crowns  his  days  with  mirth,  his  nights  with  love, 
But  far  removed  in  thundering  camps  is  found, 
His  slumbers  short,  his  bed  the  herbless  ground : 
In  tasks  of  danger  always  seen  the  first. 
Feeds  from  the  hedge,  and  slakes  with  ice  his  thirst. 
Long  must  his  patience  strive  with  fortune's  rage, 
And  long  opposing  gods  themselves  engage, 
Must  see  his  country  flame,  his  friends  destroyed, 
Before  the  promised  empire  be  enjoyed : 
Such  toil  of  fate  must  build  a  man  of  fame. 
And  such,  to  Israel  s  crown,  the  godlike  David  came. 

What  sudden  beams  dispel  the  clouds  so  fast. 
Whose  drenching  rains  laid  all  our  vineyards  waste  1 
The  spring  so  far  behind  her  course  delayed, 
On  the  instant  is  in  all  her  bl<iom  arrayed ; 
The  winds  breathe  low,  the  element  serene ; 
Yet  mark  what  motion  in  the  waves  is  seen! 
Thronging  and  busy  as  Hyblsean  swarms. 
Or  straggled  soldiers  summon'd  to  their  arms. 
See  where  the  princely  bark,  in  loosest  pride, 
With  all  her  guardian  fleet,  adorns  the  tide  ! 
High  on  her  deck  the  royal  lovers  stand. 
Our  crimes  to  pardon  ere  they  touch'd  our  land. 
Welcome  to  Israel  and  to  David's  breast ! 
Here  all  your  toils,  here  all  your  sufferings  rest. 

This  year  did  Ziloah  rule  Jerusalem, 
And  boldly  all  sedition's  surges  stem, 
Howe'er  encumber'd  with  a  viler  pair 
Than  Ziph  or  Shimei  to  assist  the  chair ; 
Yet  Ziloah's  loyal  labours  so  prevail'd, 
That  faction  at  the  next  election  fail'd. 
When  even  the  common  cry  did  justice  sound, 
And  merit  by  the  multitude  was  crown'd : 
With  David  then  was  Israel's  peace  restored, 
Crowds  moum'd  their  error,  and  obey'd  their  lord. 


120 
THE  MEDAL. 

A  SATIRE  AGAINST  SEDITION. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  THE  WHIGS. 


For  to  whom  can  I  dedicate  this  poem,  with  so  much  justice  as 
to  you?  'Tis  the  representation  of  your  own  hero:  'tis  the 
picture  drawn  at  length,  which  you  admire  and  prize  so  much 
in  little.  None  of  your  ornaments  are  wanting ;  neither  the 
landscape  of  the  Tower,  nor  the  rising  sun ;  nor  the  Anno  Domini 
of  your  new  sovereign's  coronation.  This  must  needs  be  a 
grateful  undertaking  to  your  whole  party;  especially  to  those 
who  have  not  been  so  happy  as  to  purchase  the  original.  I  hear 
the  graver  has  made  a  good  market  of  it :  all  his  kings  are 
bought  up  already ;  or  the  value  of  the  remainder  so  inhanced, 
that  many  a  poor  Polander  who  would  be  glad  to  worship  the 
image,  is  not  able  to  go  to  the  cost  of  him,  but  must  be  content 
to  see  him  here.  I  must  confess  I  am  no  great  artist;  but  sign- 
post painting  will  serve  the  turn  to  remember  a  friend  by, 
especially  when  better  is  not  to  be  had.  Yet  for  your  comfort  the 
lineaments  are  true ;  and  though  he  sat  not  five  times  to  me,  as 
he  did  to  B.,  yet  I  have  consulted  history,  as  the  Italian  painters 
do,  when  they  would  draw  a  Nero,  or  a  Caligula;  though  they 
have  not  seen  the  men,  they  can  help  their  imagination  by  a 
statue  of  him,  and  find  out  the  colouring  from  Suetonius  and 
Tacitus.  Truth  is,  you  might  have  spared  one  side  of  your 
Medal;  the  head  would  be  seen  to  more  advantage  if  it  were 
placed  on  a  spike  of  the  Tower,  a  little  nearer  to  the  sun,  which 
would  then  break  out  to  better  purpose. 

You  tell  us  in  your  preface  to  the  No-protestant  Plot,  that 
you  shall  be  forced  hereafter  to  leave  off  your  modesty:  I 
suppose  you  mean  that  little  which  is  left  you ;  for  it  was  worn 
to  rags  when  you  put  out  this  Medal.  Never  was  there  practised 
such  a  piece  of  notorious  impudence  in  the  face  of  an  established 
government.  I  believe  when  he  is  dead  you  will  wear  him  in 
thumb-rings,  as  the  Turks  did  Scanderbeg ;  as  if  there  were  virtue 
in  his  bones  to  preserve  jow  against  monarchy.  Yet  all  this  while 
you  pretend  not  only  zeal  for  the  public  good,  but  a  due  vene- 
ration for  the  person  of  the  king.  But  all  men  who  can  see  an 
inch  before  them,  may  easily  detect  those  gross  fallacies.  That 
it  is  necessary  for  men  in  your  circumstances  to  pretend  both,  is 
granted  you;  for  without  them  there  could  be  no  ground  to 
raise  a  faction.     But  I  would  ask  you  one  civil  question,  What 


Adgl 


(m^^^      \n  epistle  T( 


TO  THE  WHIGS.  121 


mght  has  any  man  among  you,  or  any  association  of  men,  (to 
jcome  nearer  to  you,)  who,  out  of  parliament,  cannot  be  con- 
sidered in  a  public  capacity,  to  meet  as  you  daily  do  in  factious 
/clubs,  to  vilify  the  government  in  your  discourses,  and  to  libel 
Vit  in  all  your  writings  ?  Wjm  mnde  you  iud^ea  \x^  ^prael  ?  Or 
how  is  it  consistent  with  your  zeal  to  the  public  welfare  to 
promote  sedition  ?  Does  your  definition  of  loyal,  which  is  to 
serve  the  king  according  to  the  laws,  allow  you  the  licence  of 
traducing  the  executive  power  with  which  you  own  he  is  in- 
vested ?  You  complain  that  his  Majesty  has  lost  the  love  and 
confidence  of  his  people;  and  by  your  very  urging  it,  you  en- 
deavour what  in  you  lies  to  make  him  lose  them.  All  good 
subjects  abhor  the  thought  of  arbitrary  power,  whether  it  be  in 
one  or  many :  if  you  were  the  patriots  you  would  seem,  you 
would  not  at  this  rate  incense  the  multitude  to  assume  it;  for 
no  sober  man  can  fear  it,  either  from  the  king's  disposition,  or 
his  practice,  or  even  where  you  would  odiously  lay  it,  from  his 
ministers.  Give  us  leave  to  enjoy  the  government  and  the 
benefit  of  laws  under  which  we  were  born,  and  which  we  desire 
to  transmit  to  our  posterity.  You  are  not  the  trustees  of  the 
public  liberty;  and  if  you  have  not  right  to  petition  in  a  crowd, 
much  less  have  you  to  intermeddle  in  the  management  of  affairs, 
or  to  arraign  what  you  do  not  like,  which  in  effect  is  every 
thing  that  is  done  by  the  king  and  council.  Can  you  imagine 
that  any  reasonable  man  will  believe  you  respect  the  person  of 
his  Majesty,  when  'tis  apparent  that  your  seditious  pamphlets 
are  stuffed  with  particular  reflections  on  him  ?  If  you  have  the 
confidence  to  deny  this,  'tis  easy  to  be  evinced  from  a  thousand 
passages,  which  I  only  forbear  to  quote,  because  I  desire  they 
should  die,  and  be  forgotten.  I  have  perused  many  of  your 
papers ;  and  to  show  you  that  I  have,  the  third  part  of  your 
No-protestant  Plot  is  much  of  it  stolen  from  your  dead  author's 
pamphlet,  called  the  Growth  of  Popery ;  as  manifestly  as  Milton's 
Defence  of  the  English  People  is  from  Buchanan  De  jure  regni 
apud  Scotos ;  or  your  first  Covenant  and  new  Association  from 
the  holy  league  of  the  French  Guisards.  Any  one  who  reads 
Davila,  may  trace  your  practices  all  along.  There  were  the  same 
pretences  for  reformation  and  loyalty,  the  same  aspersions  of  the 
king,  and  the  same  grounds  of  a  rebellion.  I  know  not  whether 
you  will  take  the  historian's  word,  who  says  it  was  reported, 
that  Poltrot,  a  Hugonot,  murdered  Francis,  duke  of  Guise,  by 
the  instigations  of  Theodore  Beza,  or  that  it  was  a  Hugonot 
minister,  otherwise  called  a  Presbyterian,  (for  our  church  abhors 
60  devilish  a  tenet)  who  first  writ  a  treatise  of  the  lawfulness  of 
Jeposing  and  murdering  kings  of  a  different  persuasion  in 
.-eligion;  but  I  am  able  to  prove,  from  the  doctrine  of  Calvin, 
and  principles  of  Buchanan,  that  they  set  the  people  above  tb^ 
magistrate;  which,  if  I  mistake  uob,  is  your  own  fundamental. 


122  THE  MEDAL.  ^^    0 

and  which  carries  your  loyalty  no  farther  than  your  liking. 
"When  a  vote  of  the  House  of  Commons  goes  on  your  side,  you 
are  as  ready  to  observe  it  as  if  it  were  passed  into  a  law ;  hut  ^ 
when  you  are  pinched  with  any  former  and  yet  unrepealed  Act 
of  Parliament,  you  declare  that  in  some  cases  you  will  not  be 
obliged  by  it.  The  passage  is  in  the  same  third  part  of  the 
No-protestant  Plot,  and  is  too  plain  to  be  denied.  The  late  copy 
of  your  intended  association,  you  neither  wholly  justify  nor 
condemn;  but  as  the  papists,  when  they  are  unopposed,  fly  out 
into  all  the  pageantries  of  worship ;  but  in  times  of  war,  when  they 
are  hard  pressed  by  arguments,  lie  close  entrenched  behind  the 
Council  of  Trent :  so  now,  when  your  affairs  are  in  a  low  con- 
dition, you  dare  not  pretend  that  to  be  a  legal  combination,  but 
whensoever  you  are  afloat,  I  doubt  not  but  it  will  be  maintained 
and  justified  to  purpose.  For  indeed  there  is  nothing  to  defend 
it  but  the  sword :  'tis  the  proper  time  to  say  any  thing  when 
men  have  all  things  in  their  power. 

In  the  mean  time,  you  would  fain  be  nibbling  at  a  parallel 
betwixt  this  association,  and  that  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  But  there  is  this  small  difference  betwixt  them,  that 
the  ends  of  the  one  are  directly  opposite  to  the  other :  one  with 
the  Queen's  approbation  and  conjunction,  as  head  of  it,  the 
other  without  either  the  consent  or  knowledge  of  the  King, 
against  whose  authority  it  is  manifestly  designed.  Therefore 
you  do  well  to  have  recourse  to  your  last  evasion,  that  it  was 
contrived  by  your  enemies,  and  shufiled  into  the  papers  that 
were  seized;  which  yet  you  see  the  nation  is  not  so  easy  to 
believe  as  your  own  jury;  but  the  matter  is  not  difficult,  to  find 
twelve  men  in  Newgate  who  would  acquit  a  malefactor. 

I  have  one  only  favour  to  desire  of  you  at  parting,  that  when 
you  think  of  answering  this  poem,  you  would  employ  the  same 
pens  against  it,  who  have  combated  with  so  much  success 
against  Absalom  and  Achitophel  :  for  then  you  may  assure 
yourselves  of  a  clear  victory  without  the  least  reply.  Rail  at 
me  abundantly ;  and,  not  to  break  a  custom,  do  it  without  wit : 
by  this  method  you  will  gain  a  considerable  point,  which  is, 
wholly  to  waive  the  answer  of  my  arguments.  Never  own  the 
bottom  of  your  principles,  for  fear  they  should  be  treason.  Fall 
severely  on  the  miscarriages  of  government ;  for  if  scandal  be 
not  allowed,  you  are  no  free-born  subjects.  If  God  has  not 
blessed  you  with  the  talent  of  rhyming,  make  use  of  my  poor 
stock  and  welcome ;  let  your  verses  run  upon  my  feet ;  and  for 
the  utmost  refuge  of  notorious  blockheads,  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity  of  sense,  turn  my  own  lines  upon  me,  and  in  utter 
despair  of  your  own  satire,  make  me  satirize  myself.  Some  of 
you  have  been  driven  •  to  this  bay  already ;  but,  above  all  the 
rest,  commend  me  to  the  non-conformist  parson,  who  writ  the 
Whip  and  Key.    I  am  afraid  it  is  not  read  so  much  as  the  piece 


A   SATIRE  AGAINST  SEDITION.  123 

deserves,  because  the  bookseller  is  every  week  crying  help  at 
the  end  of  his  Gazette,  to  get  it  off.  You  see  I  am  charitable 
enough  to  do  him  a  kindness,  that  it  may  be  published  as  well 
as  printed ;  and  that  so  much  skill  in  Hebrew  derivations  may 
not  lie  for  waste  paper  in  the  shop.  Yet  I  half  suspect  he  went 
no  further  for  his  leai'ning  than  the  index  of  Hebrew  names  and 
etymologies,  which  is  printed  at  the  end  of  some  English  bibles. 
If  Achitophel  signify  the  brother  of  a  fool,  the  author  of  that 
jjoem  will  pass  with  his  readers  for  the  next  of  kin.  And  per- 
haps it  is  the  relation  that  makes  the  kindness.  Whatever  the 
verses  are,  buy  them  up,  I  beseech  you,  out  of  pity;  for  I  hear 
the  conventicle  is  shut  up,  and  the  brother  of  Achitophel  out  of 
SL'i'vice. 

Now  footmen,  you  know,  have  the  generosity  to  make  a  purse 
for  a  member  of  their  society  who  has  had  his  livery  pulled  over 
his  ears ;  and  even  Protestant  socks  are  bought  up  among  you, 
out  of  veneration  to  the  name.  A  dissenter  in  poetry  from  sense 
and  English  will  make  as  good  a  Protestant  rhymer,  as  a  dis- 
senter from  the  Church  of  England  a  Protestant  parson.  Besides, 
if  you  encourage  a  young  beginner,  who  knows  but  he  may 
elevate  his  style  a  little  above  the  vulgar  epithets  of  profane, 
und  saucy  Jack,  and  atheistical  scribbler,  with  which  he  treats 
'lie,  when  the  fit  of  enthusiasm  is  strong  upon  him  :  by  wh^h 
vsell-mannered  and  charitable  expressions  I  was  certain  of  his 
tect  before  I  knew  his  name.  What  would  you  have  more  of 
I  man  ?  He  has  damned  me  in  your  cause  from  Genesis  to  the 
Revelation ;  and  has  half  the  texts  of  both  the  Testaments 
against  me,  if  you  will  be  so  civil  to  yourselves  as  to  take  him 
for  your  interpreter,  and  not  to  take  them  for  Irish  witnesses. 
After  all,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me,  that  you  retained  him  only 
for  the  opening  of  your  cause,  and  that  your  main  lawyer  is  yet 
behind.  Now  if  it  so  happen  he  meet  with  no  more  reply  than 
his  predecessors,  you  may  either  conclude  that  I  trust  to  the 
goodness  of  my  cause,  or  fear  my  adversary,  or  disdain  him,  or 
what  you  please,  for  the  short  on't  is,  'tis  indiffejrent  to  your 
humble  servant,  whatever  your  party  says  or  thinks  of  him. 


THE  MEDAL. 

Op  all  our  antic  sights  and  pageantry, 
Which  English  idiots  run  in  crowds  to  see, 
The  Polish  Medal  bears  the  prize  alone : 
A  monster,  more  the  favourite  of  the  town 
Than  either  fairs  or  theatres  have  shown. 


122  THE  MEDAL.  *    * 

and  which  carries  your  loyalty  no  farther  than  your  liking. 
When  a  vote  of  the  House  of  Commons  goes  on  your  side,  you 
are  as  ready  to  observe  it  as  if  it  were  passed  into  a  law ;  hut  * 
when  you  are  pinched  with  any  former  and  yet  unrepealed  Act 
of  Parliament,  you  declare  that  in  some  cases  you  will  not  be 
obliged  by  it.  The  passage  is  in  the  same  third  part  of  the 
ISTo-protestant  Plot,  and  is  too  plain  to  be  denied.  The  late  copy 
of  your  intended  association,  you  neither  wholly  justify  nor 
condemn ;  but  as  the  papists,  when  they  are  unopposed,  fly  out 
into  all  the  pageantries  of  worship ;  but  in  times  of  war,  when  they 
are  hard  pressed  by  arguments,  lie  close  entrenched  behind  the 
Council  of  Trent :  so  now,  when  your  affairs  are  in  a  low  con- 
dition, you  dare  not  pretend  that  to  be  a  legal  combination,  but 
whensoever  you  are  afloat,  I  doubt  not  but  it  will  be  maintained 
and  justified  to  purpose.  For  indeed  there  is  nothing  to  defend 
it  but  the  sword :  'tis  the  proper  time  to  say  any  thing  when 
men  have  all  things  in  their  power. 

In  the  mean  time,  you  would  fain  be  nibbling  at  a  parallel 
betwixt  this  association,  and  that  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  But  there  is  this  small  diflerence  betwixt  them,  that 
the  ends  of  the  one  are  directly  opposite  to  the  other :  one  with 
the  Queen's  approbation  and  conjunction,  as  head  of  it,  the 
other  without  either  the  consent  or  knowledge  of  the  King, 
against  whose  authority  it  is  manifestly  designed.  Therefore 
you  do  well  to  have  recourse  to  your  last  evasion,  that  it  was 
contrived  by  your  enemies,  and  shufiled  into  the  papers  that 
were  seized;  which  yet  you  see  the  nation  is  not  so  easy  to 
believe  as  your  own  jury ;  but  the  matter  is  not  difficult,  to  find 
twelve  men  in  Newgate  who  would  acquit  a  malefactor. 

I  have  one  only  favour  to  desire  of  you  at  parting,  that  when 
you  think  of  answering  this  poem,  you  would  employ  the  same 
pens  against  it,  who  have  combated  with  so  much  success 
against  Absalom  and  Achitophel  :  for  then  you  may  assure 
yourselves  of  a  clear  victory  without  the  least  reply.  Rail  at 
me  abundantly ;  and,  not  to  break  a  custom,  do  it  without  wit : 
by  this  method  you  will  gain  a  considerable  point,  which  is, 
wholly  to  waive  the  .answer  of  my  arguments.  Never  own  the 
bottom  of  your  principles,  for  fear  they  should  be  treason.  Fall 
severely  on  the  miscarriages  of  government ;  for  if  scandal  be 
not  allowed,  you  are  no  free-born  subjects.  If  God  has  not 
blessed  you  with  the  talent  of  rhyming,  make  use  of  my  poor 
stock  and  welcome ;  let  your  verses  run  upon  my  feet ;  and  for 
the  utmost  refuge  of  notorious  blockheads,  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity  of  sense,  turn  my  own  lines  upon  me,  and  in  utter 
despair  of  your  own  satire,  make  me  satirize  myself.  Some  of 
you  have  been  driven  •  to  this  bay  already ;  but,  above  all  the 
rest,  commend  me  to  the  non-conformist  parson,  who  writ  the 
Whip  and  Key.    I  am  afraid  it  is  not  read  so  much  as  the  piece 


A  SATIRE   AGAINST  SEDITION.  123 

deserves,  becaiise  the  bookseller  is  every  week  crying  help  at 
the  end  of  his  Gazette,  to  get  it  off.  You  see  I  am  charitable 
enough  to  do  him  a  kindness,  that  it  may  be  published  as  well 
as  printed ;  and  that  so  much  skill  in  Hebrew  derivations  may 
not  lie  for  waste  paper  in  the  shop.  Yet  I  half  suspect  he  went 
no  further  for  his  learning  than  the  index  of  Hebrew  names  and 
etymologies,  which  is  printed  at  the  end  of  some  English  bibles. 
If  Achitophel  signify  the  brother  of  a  fool,  the  author  of  that 
poem  will  pass  with  his  readers  for  the  next  of  kin.  And  per- 
haps it  is  the  relation  that  makes  the  kindness.  Whatever  the 
verses  are,  buy  them  up,  I  beseech  you,  out  of  pity;  for  I  hear 
the  conventicle  is  shut  up,  and  the  brother  of  Achitophel  out  of 
service. 

Now  footmen,  you  know,  have  the  generosity  to  make  a  purse 
for  a  member  of  their  society  who  has  had  his  livery  pulled  over 
his  ears ;  and  even  Protestant  socks  are  bought  up  among  you, 
out  of  veneration  to  the  name.  A  dissenter  in  poetry  from  sense 
and  English  will  make  as  good  a  Protestant  rhymer,  as  a  dis- 
senter from  the  Church  of  England  a  Protestant  parson.  Besides, 
if  you  encourage  a  young  beginner,  who  knows  but  he  may 
elevate  his  style  a  little  above  the  vulgar  epithets  of  profane, 
und  saucy  Jack,  and  atheistical  scribbler,  with  which  he  treats 
me,  when  the  fit  of  enthusiasm  is  strong  upon  him  :  by  wh'kih 
v^ell-mannered  and  charitable  expressions  I  was  certain  of  his 
eect  before  I  knew  his  name.  "What  would  you  have  more  of 
i  man  ?  He  has  damned  me  in  your  cause  from  Genesis  to  the 
Revelation  ;  and  has  half  the  texts  of  both  the  Testaments 
against  me,  if  you  will  be  so  civil  to  yourselves  as  to  take  him 
for  your  interpreter,  and  not  to  take  them  for  Irish  witnesses. 
After  all,  perhaps  you  will  tell  me,  that  you  retained  him  only 
for  the  opening  of  your  cause,  and  that  your  main  lawyer  is  yet 
behind.  Now  if  it  so  happen  he  meet  with  no  more  reply  than 
his  predecessors,  you  may  either  conclude  that  I  trust  to  the 
goodness  of  my  cause,  or  fear  my  adversary,  or  disdain  him,  or 
what  you  please,  for  the  short  on't  is,  'tis  indiffej-ent  to  your 
humble  servant,  whatever  your  party  says  or  thinks  of  him. 


THE  IVfEDAL. 

Op  all  our  antic  sights  and  pageantry, 
Which  English  idiots  run  in  crowds  to  see, 
The  Polish  Medal  bears  the  prize  alone : 
A  monster,  more  the  favourite  of  the  town 
Than  either  fairs  or  theatres  have  shown. 


4 


124  THE  MEDAL. 

Never  did  art  so  well  with  nature  strive, 
Nor  ever  idol  seem'd  so  much  alive  ; 

(So  like  the  man,  so  golden  to  the  sight,  i 
So  base  within,  so  counterfeit  and  hght.  i 
Pne  side  is  fill'd  with  title  and  with  face ; 
And,  lest  the  king  should  want  a  regal  place, 
On  the  reverse,  a  tower  the  town  surveys, 
P'er  which  our  mounting  sun  his  beams  displays. 
The  word,  pronounced  aloud  by  shrieval  voice, 
LrBtamur,  which,  in  Polish,  is  Rejoice. 
The  day,  month,  year,  to  the  great  act  are  join'd : 
And  a  new  canting  holiday  design'd. 
Five  days  he  sat,  for  every  cast  and  look, 
Four  more  than  God  to  finish  Adam  took : 
But  who  can  tell  what  essence  angels  are, 
Or  how  long  Heaven  was  making  Lucifer  ? 
Oh,  could  the  style  that  copied  every  grace, 
And  plough'd  such  furrows  for  an  eunuch-face, 
Could  it  have  form'd  his  ever-changing  will, 
The  various  piece  had  tired  the  graver's  skill ! 
A  martial  hero  first,  with  early  care, 
Blown,  like  a  pigmy  by  the  winds,  to  war. 
A  beardless  tiniet,  a  i-ebel,  ere  a  man  : 
So  young  his  hatred  to  his  prince  began. 
Next  this,  (how  wildly  will  ambition  stoer !) 
A  vermin  wriggling  in  the  Usurper's  ear. 
Bartering  his  venal  wit  for  sums  of  gold, 
He  cast  himself  into  the  saint^like  mould ; 
Groan'd,  sigh'd,  and  pray'd.  while  godHnes.o  was  gain, 
The  loudest  bagpipe  of  the  squeaking  train. 
Bat,  as  'tis  hard  to  chca-l  a  juggler's  eyes. 
His  open  lewdness  be  ovjiiid  ne'er  disguise  : 
There  split  the  saint ;  tor  hypocritic  zeal 
Allows  no  sins  but  those  it  can  conceal. 
Whoring  to  scandal  gives  too  large  a  scope : 
Saints  must  not  trade  ;  but  they  may  interlope. 
The  ungodly  principle  was  all  the  same, 
B»t  a  gross  cheat  betrays  his  partner's  game. 
Besides,  their  pace  was  formal,  grave,  and  slack ; 
His  nimble  wit  outran  the  heavy  pack. 
Yet  still  he  found  his  fortune  at  a  stay ; 
Whole  droves  of  blockheads  choking  up  his  way: 
They  took,  but  not  rewarded,  his  advice ; 
Villain  and  wit  exact  a  double  price. 


A  SATIRE  AGAINST  SEDITION.  125 

Power  was  his  aim  :  but,  thrown  from  that  pretence, 
The  wretch  turn'd  loyal  in  his  own  defence ; 
And  malice  reconciled  him  to  his  prince. 
Him  in  the  anguish  of  his  soul  he  served, 
Rewarded  faster  still  than  he  deserved. 
Behold  him  now  exalted  into  trust, 

His  counsel 's  oft  convenient,  seldom  just :  ^    i 

Even  in  the  most  sincere  advice  he  gave,  *   : 

He  had  a  grudging  still  to  be  a  knave. 
The  frauds  he  learn'd  in  his  fanatic  years 
Made  him  uneasy  in  his  lawful  gears : 
At  best  as  little  honest  as  he  could, 
And,  like  white  witches,  mischievously  good. 
To  his  first  bias,  longingly,  he  leans, 
And  rather  would  be  great  by  wicked  means. 
Thus  framed  for  ill,  he  loosed  our  triple  hold ; 
Advice  unsafe,  precipitous,  and  bold. 
From  hence  those  tears !  that  Ilium  of  our  woe  [ 
Who  helps  a  powerful  friend,  fore-arms  a  foe. 
Wliat  wonder  if  the  waves  prevail  so  far. 
When  he  cut  down  the  banks  that  made  the  bar? 
Seas  follow  but  their  nature  to  invade ;  • 

But  he  by  art  our  native  strength  betray'd. 
So  Samson  to.  his  foe  his  force  confess'd ; 
And  to  be  shorn,  lay  slumbering  on  her  breast. 
But  when  this  fatal  counsel,  found  too  late. 
Exposed  its  author  to  the  public  hate ; 
When  his  just  sovereign,  by  no  impious  way 
Could  be  seduced  to  arbitrary  sway ; 
Forsaken  of  that  hope  he  shifts  the  sail, 
Drives  down  the  current  with  a  popular  gale  j 
And  shows  the  fiend  confess'd  without  a  veil, 
'"'lie  preaches  to  the  crowd,  that  power  is  leni), 
But  not  convey'd  to  kingly  government ; 
That  claims  successive  bear  no  binding  force, 
'That  coronation  oaths  are  things  of  course ; 
Maintains  the  multitude  can  never  err ; 
And  sets  the  people  in  the  papal  chair. 
The  reason  's  obvious ;  interest  never  lies  j 
The  most  have  still  their  interest  in  their  eyes ; 
The  power  is  always  their's,  and  power  is  ever  wiae. 
Almighty  crowd !  thou  shortenest  all  dispute ; 
Power  is  thy  essence,  wit  thy  attribute ! 

\ 


126  THE   MEDAL. 

Nor  faith  nor  reason  make  thee  at  a  stay, 

Thou  leap'st  o'er  all  eternal  truths  in  thy  Pindaric  way ! 

Athens,  no  doubt,  did  righteously  decide, 
,  When  Phocion  and  when  Socrates  were  tried ; 
I  As  righteously  they  did  those  dooms  repent ; 
I  Still  they  were  wise  whatever  way  they  went : 
1  Cpwds  err  not,  though  to  both  extremes  they  run ; 
I  To  kill  the  father,  and  recal  the  son. 

Some  think  the  fools  were  most  as  times  went  then, 

But  now  the  world  's  o'erstock'd  with  prudent  men. 

The  common  cry  is  even  religion's  test. 

The  Turk's  is  at  Constantinople  best ; 

Idols  in  India ;  Popery  at  Rome ; 

And  our  own  worship  only  true  at  home. 

And  true,  but  for  the  time ;  'tis  hard  to  know 

How  long  we  please  it  shall  continue  so. 

This  side  to-day,  and  that  to-morrow  burns ; 

So  all  are  God-a'mighties  in  their  turns. 

A  tempting  doctrine,  plausible  and  new ; 

What  fools  our  fathers  were,  if  this  be  true  ! 
/who,  to  destroy  the  seeds  of  civil  war, 
f  Inherent  right  in  monarch's  did  declare : 
VAnd,  that  a  lawful  power  might  never  cease, 

iBecured  succession  to  secure  our  peace. 

Thus  property  and  sovereign  sway,  at  last. 

In  equal  balances  were  justly  cast : 

But  this  new  Jehu  spurs  the  hot-mouth'd  horse ; 

Instructs  the  beast  to  know  his  native  force ; 

To  take  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and  fly 

To  the  next  headlong  steep  of  anarchy. 

Too  happy  England,  if  our  good  we  knew. 

Would  we  possess  the  freedom  we  pursue ! 

The  lavish  government  can  give  no  more : 

Yet  we  repine,  and  plenty  makes  us  poor. 

God  tried  us  once ;  our  rebel-fathers  fought, 

He  glutted  them  with  all  the  power  they  sought ; 

Till,  master'd  by  their  own  usurping  brave, 

The  free-born  subject  sunk  into  a  slave. 

We  loathe  our  manna,  and  we  long  for  quails ; 

Ah,  what  is  man  when  his  own  wish  prevails ! 

How  rash,  how  swift  to  plunge  himself  in  ill ! 

Proud  of  his  power,  and  boundless  in  his  will ! 

That  kings  can  do  no  wrong  we  must  behevo : 

None  can  they  do,  and  must  they  all  recreive  ? 


A  SATIRE  AGAINST  SEDITION.  127 

Help,  Heaven !  or  sadly  we  shall  see  an  hour, 
When  neither  wrong  nor  right  are  in  their  power ! 
Already  they  have  lost  their  best  defence, 
The  benefit  of  laws  which  they  dispense : 
No  justice  to  their  righteous  cause  allow'd : 
But  bafiled  by  an  arbitrary  crowd : 
And  medals  graved  their  conquest  to  record, 
The  stamp  and  coin  of  their  adopted  lord. 

The  man  who  laugh'd  but  once,  to  see  an  ass 
Mumbling  to  make  the  cross-grain'd  thistles  pasf 
Might  laugh  again  to  see  a  jury  chaw 
The  prickles  of  unpalatable  law. 
The  witnesses,  that  leech-like  lived  on  blood, 
Sucking  for  them  were  medicinally  good ; 
But  when  they  fasten' d  on  their  fester'd  sore, 
Then  justice  and  religion  they  forswore  ; 
Their  maiden  oaths  debauch' d  into  a  whore. 
Thus  men  are  raised  by  factions,  and  decried ; 
And  rogue  and  saint  distinguish'd  by  their  side. 
They  rack  even  Scripture  to  confess  their  cause, 
And  plead  a  call  to  preach  in  spite  of  laws. 
But  that 's  no  news  to  the  poor  injured  page ; 
It  has  been  used  as  ill  in  every  age : 
And  is  constrain' d,  with  patience,  all  to  take. 
For  what  defence  can  Greek  and  Hebrew  make  1 
Happy  who  can  this  talking  trumpet  seize ; 
They  make  it  speak  whatever  sense  they  please : 
'Twas  framed  at  first  our  oracle  to  inquire ; 
But  since  our  sects  in  prophecy  grow  higher. 
The  text  inspires  not  them,  but  they  the  text  inspire. 

London,  thou  great  emporium  of  our  isle, 

0  thou  too  bounteous,  thou  too  fruitful  Nile ! 
How  shall  I  praise  or  curse  to  thy  desert  ? 

Or  separate  thy  sound  from  thy  corrupted  part  ? 

1  call'd  thee  Nile  ;  the  parallel  will  stand  ; 
Thy  tides  of  wealth  o'erflow  the  fatten' d  land  ; 
Yet  monsters  from  thy  large  increase  we  find, 
Engender'd  on  the  slime  thou  leav'st  behind. 
Sedition  has  not  wholly  seized  on  thee, 

Thy  nobler  parts  are  from  infection  free. 
Of  Israel's  tribes  thou  hast  a  numerous  band, 
But  still  the  Canaanite  is  in  the  land. 
Thy  military  chiefs  are  brave  and  true ; 
Nor  are  thy  disenchanted  burghers  few. 


128  THE   MEDAL. 

The  head  it^  ^o/ai  which  thy  heart  commands, 

But  what's  a  head  with  two  such  gouty  hand^  ? 

The  wise  and  wealthy  love  the  surest  way, 

And  are  content  to  thrive  and  to  obey : 

But  wisdom  is  to  sloth  too  great  a  slave ; 

None  are  so  busy  as  the  fool  and  knave. 

Those  let  me  curse  ;  what  vengeance  will  they  urge, 

Whose  ordures  neither  plague  nor  fire  can  purge  1 

Nor  sharp  experience  can  to  duty  bring, 

Nor  angry  Heaven,  nor  a  forgiving  king  ! 

In  gospel  phrase  their  chapmen  they  betray ; 

Their  shops  are  dens,  the  buyer  is  their  prey. 

The  knack  of  trades  is  living  on  the  spoil ; 

They  boast,  e'en  when  each  other  they  beguile. 

Customs  to  steal  is  such  a  trivial  thing, 

That  'tis  their  charter  to  defraud  their  king. 

All  hands  unite  of  every  jarring  sect ; 

They  cheat  the  country  first,  and  then  infect. 

They  for  God's  cause  their  monarchs  dare  dethrone, 

And  they'll  be  sure  to  make  his  cause  their  own. 

Whether  the  plotting  Jesuit  laid  the  plan 

Of  murdering  kings,  or  the  French  Puritan, 

Our  sacrilegious  sects  their  guides  outgo, 

And  kings  and  kingly  power  would  murder  too. 

What  means  their  traitorous  combination  less, 
Too  plain  to  evade,  too  shameful  to  confess  ! 
But  treason  is  not  own'd  when  'tis  descried ; 
Successful  crimes  alone  are  justified. 
The  men,  who  no  conspiracy  would  find, 
Who  doubts,  but  had  it  taken,  they  had  join'd, 
Join'd  in  a  mutual  covenant  of  defence ; 
At  first  without,  at  last  against  their  prince  ? 
If  sovereign  right  by  sovereign  power  they  scan, 
The  same  bold  maxim  holds  in  God  and  man  : 
God  were  not  safe,  his  thunder  could  they  shun, 
He  should  be  forced  to  crown  another  son. 
Thus  when  the  heir  was  from  the  vineyard  thrown. 
The  rich  possession  was  the  murderers'  own. 
In  vain  to  sophistry  they  have  recourse : 
By  proving  their's  no  plot,  they  prove  'tis  worse ; 
Unmask'd  rebelhon,  and  audacious  force ; 
Which  though  not  actual,  yet  all  eyes  may  see 
'Tis  working  in  the  immediate  power  to  be : 


A.  SATIRE  AGAINST  SEDITION.  129 

For  from  pretendea  giievances  they  rise, 

First  to  dislike,  and  after  to  despise. 

Then  Cyclop-Hke  in  human  flesh  to  deal, 

Chop  up  a  minister  at  every  meal ; 

Perhaps  not  wholly  to  melt  down  the  king ; 

But  cUp  his  regal  rights  within  the  ring : 

From  thence  to  assume  the  power  of  peace  and  war, 

And  ease  him  by  degrees  of  public  care. 

Yet,  to  consult  his  dignity  and  fame, 

He  should  have  leave  to  exercise  the  name ; 

And  hold  the  cards  while  commons  play'd  the  game. 

For  what  can  power  give  more  than  food  and  drink, 

To  hve  at  ease,  and  not  be  bound  to  think  ? 

These  are  the  cooler  methods  of  their  crime. 

But  their  hot  zealots  think  'tis  loss  of  time ; 

On  utmost  bounds  of  loyalty  they  stand, 

And  grin  and  whet  like  a  Croatian  band, 

That  waits  impatient  for  the  last  command. 

Thus  outlaws  open  villany  maintain, 

They  steal  not,  but  in  squadrons  scour  the  plain : 

And  if  their  power  the  passengers  subdue, 

The  most  have  right,  the  wrong  is  in  the  few. 

Such  impious  axioms  foolishly  they  show, 

For  in  some  soils  republics  will  not  grow : 

Our  temperate  isle  will  no  extremes  sustain. 

Of  popular  sway  or  arbitrary  reign : 

But  slides  between  them  both  into  the  best. 

Secure  in  freedom,  in  a  monarch  blest : 

And  though  the  climate,  vex'd  with  various  winds. 

Works  through  our  yielding  bodies  on  our  minds ; 

The  wholesome  tempest  purges  what  it  breeds. 

To  recommend  the  calmness  that  succeeds;^       — 

liut  thou,  the  pander  of  the  people's  "hearts, 
O  crooked  soul,  and  serpentine  in  arts. 
Whose  blandishments  a  loyal  land  have  whored. 
And  broke  the  bond  she  plighted  to  her  lord ; 
What  curses  on  thy  blasted  name  will  fall ! 
Which  age  to  age  their  legacy  shall  call ; 
For  •  all  must  curse  the  woes  that  must  descend  on 

aJL 
Religion  thou  hast  none :  thy  Mercury 
Has  pass'd  through  every  sect,  or  their 's  through  thee. 
But  what  thou  giv'st,  that  venom  still  remains. 
And  the  pox'd  nation  feels  tlieo  in  their  brains. 
13* 


130  THE  MEDAL. 

What  else  inspires  the  tongues  and  swells  the  breasts 
Of  all  thy  bellowing  renegado  priests, 
That  preach  up  thee  for  God ;  dispense  thy  laws ; 
And  with  thy  stum  ferment  thy  fainting  cause  ? 
Fresh  fumes  of  madness  raise ;  and  toil  and  sweat 
To  111  vke  the  formidable  cripple  great. 
Yet  should  thy  crimes  succeed,  should  lawless  power 
Compass  thosi  ends  thy  greedy  hopes  devour, 
Thy  canting  friends  thy  mortal  foes  would  be, 
Thy  God  and  their's  will  never  long  agree:  ,^ 
For  thine  (if  thou  hast  any)  must  be  one 
That  lets  the  world  and  human-kind  alone : 
A  jolly  god,  that  passes  hours  too  well 
To  promise  heaven,  or  threaten  us  with  hell : 
That  unconcern'd  can  at  rebellion  sit, 
And  wink  at  crimes  he  did  himself  commit. 
A  tyrant  their's ;  the  heaven  their  priesthood  paints 
A  conventicle  of  gloomy  sullen  saints ; 
A  heaven  like  Bedlam,  slovenly  and  sad, 
Fore-doom'd  for  souls,  with  false  reUgion  mad. 
/^  Without  a  vision  poets  can  foreshow 
^VhatlHl  but  fools  by  common  sense"may  know : 
If  true  succession  from  ou^  j«V  j^jif^iTT^^^T^, 
And  crowds  profane  with  impious  arms  prevail, 
Not  thou,  nor  those  thy  factious  arts  engage, 
Shah  reap  that  harvest  of  rebeUious  rage. 
With  whicn  tnou  liatterest  thy  decrepit  age. 
The  swelling  poison  of  the  several  Eects^ 
Which,  wanting  vent,  the  nation's  health  infects, 
Shall  burst  its  bag ;  and  fighting  out  their  way. 
The  various  venoms  on  each  otner  prey. 
The  presbyter,  puff 'd  up  with  spiritual  pride. 
Shall  on  the  necks  of  the  lewd  nobles  ride : 
His  brethren  damn,  the  civil  power  defy, 
And  parcel  out  republic  prelacy. 
But  short  shall  be  his  reign :  his  rigid  yoke 
And  tyrant  power  will  puny  sects  provoke ; 
And  frogs  and  toads,  and  all  their  tadpole  train, 
Will  croak  to  heaven  for  help^  from  this  devouring  crane. 
The  cut-throat  sword  and  clamorous  gown  shall  ja.r, 
In  sharing  their  ill-gotten  spoils  of  war : 
Chiefs  shall  be  grudged  the  part  which  they  pretend; 
Lords  envy  lords,  and  friends  with  every  friend 
About  their  impious  merit  shall  contend. 


RELIGIO  LAICI.  ^^'l 

The  surly  commons  shall  respect  deny, 
And  justle  peerage  out  with  property. 
Their  general  either  shall  his  trust  betray, 
And  force  the  crowd  to  arbitrary  sway ; 
Or  they,  suspecting  his  ambitious  aim, 
In  hate  of  kings  shall  cast  anew  the  frame ; 
And  thrust  out  Collatine  that  bore  their  name. 
Thus  inborn  broils  the  factions  would  engage, 

I  Or  wars  of  exiled  heirs,  or  foreign  rage,      / 
Till  halting  vengeance  overtook  our  age :    \ 
And  our  wild  labours  wearied  into  rest,       \ 
Beclined  us  on  a  rightful  monarch's  breast.  \ 


RELIGIO  LAICI; 

OR,  A  layman's  faith. 

THE  PREFACE. 

A  Poem  with  so  bold  a  title,  and  a  name  prefixed  from  which 
the  handling  of  so  serious  a  subject  would  not  be  expected,  may 
reasonably  oblige  the  author  to  say  somewhat  in  defence,  both 
of  himself  and  of  his  undertaking.  In  the  first  place,  if  it  be 
objected  to  me  that,  being  a  layman,  I  ought  not  to  have  con- 
cerned myself  with  speculations,  which  belong  to  the  profession 
of  divinity;  I  could  answer,  that  perhaps  laymen,  with  equal 
advantages  of  parts  and  knowledge,  are  not  the  most  incom- 
petent judges  of  sacred  things;  but  in  the  due  sense  of  my  own 
weakness  and  want  of  learning  I  plead  not  this :  I  pretend  not 
to  make  myself  a  judge  of  faith  in  others,  but  only  to  make 
a  confession  of  my  own.  I  lay  no  unhallowed  hand  upon  the 
ark,  but  wait  on  it  with  the  reverence  that  becomes  me  at 
a  distance.  In  the  next  place  I  will  ingenuously  confess,  that 
the  helps  I  have  used  in  this  small  treatise,  were  many  of  them 
taken  from  the  works  of  our  own  reverend  divines  of  the  Church 
of  England ;  so  that  the  weapons  with  which  I  combat  irreligion, 
are  already  consecrated ;  though  I  suppose  they  may  be  taken 
down  as  lawfully  as  the  sword  of  Goliah  was  by  David,  when 
they  are  to  be  employed  for  the  common  cause  against  the 
enemies  of  piety.  I  intend  not  by  this  to  entitle  them  to  any 
of  my  errors,  which  yet  I  hope  are  only  those  of  charity  to 
mankind;  and  such  as  my  own  charity  has  caused  me  to  com- 
mit, that  of  others  may  more  easily  excuse.     Being  naturally 


132  RELIGIO  LAICl; 

inclined  to  scepticism  in  philosophy,  I  have  no  reason  to  impose 
my  opinions  in  a  subject  which  is  above  it;  but  whatever  they 
are,  I  submit  them  with  all  reverence  to  my  mother  Church, 
accounting  them  no  further  mine,  than  as  they  are  authorized, 
or  at  least  uncondemned  by  her  And,  indeed,  to  secure  myself 
on  this  side,  T  have  used  the  necessary  precaution  of  showing 
this  paper  before  it  was  publislied  to"a"judicibus  and  learned 
friend,  a  man  indefatigably  zealous  in  the  service  of  the  Church 
and  State;  and  whose  writings  have  highly  deserved  of  both. 
He  was  pleased  to  approve  the  body  of  the  discourse,  and  I  hope 
he  is  more  my  friend  than  to  do  it  out  of  complaisance :  it  is 
true  he  had  too  good  a  taste  to  like  it  all ;  and,  amongst  some 
other  faults,  recommended  to  my  second  view,  what  I  have 
written  perhaps  too  boldly  on  St.  Athanasius,  which  he  advised 
me  wholly  to  omit.  I  am  sensible  enough  that  I  had  done  more 
prudently  to  have  followed  his  opinion :  but  then  I  could  not 
have  satisfied  myself  that  I  had  done  honestly  not  to  have 
written  what  was  my  own.  It  has  always  been  my  thought, 
that  heathens  who  never  did,  nor  without  miracle  could,  hear 
of  the  name  of  Christ,  were  yet  in  a  possibility  of  salvation. 
Neither  will  it  enter  easily  into  my  belief,  that  before  the  coming 
of  our  Saviour,  the  whole  world,  excepting  only  the  Jewish 
nation,  should  lie  under  the  inevitable  necessity  of  everlasting 
punishment,  for  want  of  that  revelation,  which  was  confined  to 
so  small  a  spot  of  ground  as  that  of  Palestine.  Among  the  sons 
of  Noah  we  read  of  one  only  who  was  accursed ;  and  if  a  bless- 
ing in  the  ripeness  of  time  was  reserved  for  Japheth  (of  whose 
progeny  we  are),  it  seems  unaccountable  to  me,  why  so  many 
generations  of  the  same  offspring,  as  preceded  our  Saviour 
in  the  flesh,  should  be  ail  involved  in  one  common  condemna- 
tion, and  yet  that  their  posterity  should  be  entitled  to  the  hopes 
of  salvation :  as.  if  a  bill  of  exclusion  had  passed  only  on  the 
fathers,  which  debarred  not  the  sons  from  their  succession.  Or 
that  so  many  ages  had  been  delivered  over  to  hell,  and  so  many 
reserved  for  heaven,  and  that  the  devil  had  the  first  choice,  and 
God  the  next.  Truly  I  am  apt  to  think,  that  the  revealed  reli- 
gion which  was  taught  by  Noah  to  all  his  sons,  might  continue 
tor  some  ages  in  the  whole  posterity.  That  afterwards  it  was 
included  wholly  in  the  family  of  Shem  is  manifest ;  but  when 
the  progenies  of  Cham  and  Japheth  swarmed  into  colonies,  and 
those  colonies  were  subdivided  intq  many  others,  in  process  of 
time  their  descendants  lost  by  little  and  little  the  primitive 
and  purer  rites  of  divine  worship,  retaining  only  the  notion  of 
one  deity ;  to  which  succeeding  generations  added  others :  for 
men  took  their  degrees  in  those  ages  from  conquerors  to  gods. 
Kevelation  being  thus  eclipsed  to  almost  all  mankind,  the  light 
of  nature  as  the  next  in  dignity  was  substituted ;  and  that  is 
it  which  St.  Paul  concludes  to  be  the  rule  of  the  heathens, 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  133 

and  by  which  they  are  hereafter  to  be  judged.  If  my  supposi- 
tion be  true,  then  the  consequence  which  I  have  assumed  in  my 
poem  may  be  also  true;  namely,  that  Deism,  or  the  principles 
of  natural  worship,  are  only  the  faint  remnants  or  dying  flames 
of  revealed  religion  in  the  posterity  of  Noah:  and  that  our 
modern  philosophers,  nay  and  some  of  our  philosophising  divines, 
have  too  much  exalted  the  faculties  of  our  souls,  when  they 
have  maintained  that,  by  their  force,  mankind  has  been  able 
to  find  out  that  there  is  one  supreme  agent  or  intellectual  being 
which  we  call  God :  that  praise  and  prayer  are  his  due  worship : 
and  the  rest  of  those  deducements,  which  I  am  confident  are  the 
remote  effects  of  revelation,  and  unattainable  by  our  discourse, 
I  mean  as  simply  considered,  and  without  the  benefit  of  divine 
illumination.  So  that  we  have  not  lifted  up  ourselves  to  God, 
by  the  weak  pinions  of  our  reason,  but  he  has  been  pleased  to 
descend  to  us ;  and  what  Socrates  said  of  him,  what  Plato  writ, 
and  the  rest  of  the  heathen  philosophers  of  several  nations,  is 
all  no  more  than  the  twilight  of  revelation,  after  the  sun  of  it 
was  set  in  the  race  of  Noah.  That  there  is  something  above 
us,  some  principle  of  motion,  our  reason  can  apprehend,  though 
it  cannot  discover  what  it  is  by  its  own  virtue.  And  indeed 
'tis  very  improbable,  that  we,  who  by  the  strength  of  our 
faculties  cannot  enter  into  the  knowledge  of  any  BeinJI  not  so 
much  as  of  our  own,  should  be  able  to  find  out,  by  them,  that 
supreme  nature,  which  we  cannot  otherwise  define  than  by 
saying  it  is  infinite;  as  if  infinite  were  definable,  or  infinity 
a  subject  for  our  narrow  understanding.  They  who  would 
prove  religion  by  reason,  do  but  weaken  the  cause  which  they 
endeavour  to  support ;  it  is  to  take  away  the  pillars  from  our 
faith,  and  to  prop  it  only  with  a  twig ;  it  is  to  design  a  tower 
like  that  of  Babel,  which,  if  it  were  possible,  as  it  is  not,  to 
reach  heaven,  would  come  to  nothing  by  the  confusion  of  the 
workmen.  For  every  man  is  building  a  several  way ;  impotently 
conceited  of  his  own  model  and  his  own  materials:  reason  is 
always  striving,  and  always  at  a  loss ;  and  of  necessity  it  must 
so  come  to  pass,  while  it  is  exercised  about  that  which  is  not 
its  own  proper  object.  Let  us  be  content  at  last  to  know  God 
by  his  own  methods ;  at  least,  so  much  of  him  as  he  is  pleased 
to  reveal  to  us  in  the  sacred  Scriptures :  to  apprehend  them  to 
be  the  word  of  God  is  all  our  reason  has  to  do ;  for  all  beyond 
it  is  the  work  of  faith,  which  is  the  seal  of  heaven  impressed 
upon  our  human  understanding. 

And  now  for  what  concerns  the  holy  bishop  Athanasius,  the 
preface  of  whose  creed  seems  inconsistent  with  my  opinion ; 
which  is,  that  heathens  may  possibly  be  saved :  in  the  first  place 
I  desire  it  may  be  considered  that  it  is  the  preface  only,  not  the 
creed  itself,  which,  till  I  am  better  informed,  is  of  too  hard  a  di- 
gestion for  my  charity.     'Tis  not  that  I  am  ignorant  how  many 


134  RELIGIO   LAICI; 

several  texts  of  Scripture  seemingly  support  that  cause;  but 
neither  am  I  ignorant  how  all  those  texts  may  receive  a  kinder 
and  more  mollified  interpretation.  Every  man  who  is  read  in 
Church  history  knows  that  belief  was  drawn  up  after  a  long  con- 
testation with  Arius,  concerning  the  divinity  of  our  blessed 
Saviour,  and  his  being  one  substance  with  the  Father ;  and  that 
thus  compiled  it  was  sent  abroad  among  the  Christian  Churches, 
as  a  kind  of  test,  which  whosoever  took  was  looked  on  as  an 
orthodox  believer.  It  is  manifest  from  hence,  that  the  heathen 
part  of  the  empire  was  not  concerned  in  it ;  for  its  business  was 
not  to  distinguish  betwixt  Pagans  and  Christians,  but  betwixt 
Heretics  and  true  Believers.  This,  well  considered,  takes  off  the 
heavy  weight  of  censure,  which  I  would  willingly  avoid,  from 
so  venerable  a  man ;  for  if  this  proposition,  "  whosoever  will  be 
saved,"  be  restrained  only  to  those  to  whom  it  was  intended, 
and  for  whom  it  was  composed,  I  mean  the  Christians  ;  then  the 
anathema  reaches  not  the  Heathens,  who  had  never  heard  of 
Christ,  and  were  nothing  interested  in  that  dispute.  After  all 
I  am  far  from  blaming  even  that  prefatory  addition  to  the  creed, 
and  as  far  from  cavilling  at  the  continuation  of  it  in  the  liturgy 
of  the  Clmrch,  where  on  the  days  appointed  it  is  publicly  read  : 
for  I  sij^ose  there  is  the  same  reason  for  it  now,  in  opposition 
to  the  iBocinians,  as  there  was  then  against  the  Arians  ;  the  one 
being  a  Heresy,  which  seems  to  have  been  refined  out  of  the 
other  ;  and  with  how  much  plausibility  of  reason  it  combats  our 
religion,  with  so  much  more  caution  to  be  avoided  :  and  therefore 
the  prudence  of  our  Church  is  to  be  commended,  which  has  inter- 
posed her  authority  for  the  recommendation  of  this  creed.  Yet 
to  such  as  are  grounded  in  the  true  belief,  those  explanatory 
creeds,  the  Nicene  and  this  of  Athanasius,  might  perhaps  be 
spared ;  for  what  is  supernatural,  will  always  be  a  mystery  in 
spite  of  exposition,  and  for  my  own  part,  the  plain  Apostles' 
creed  is  most  suitable  to  my  weak  understanding,  as  the  simplest 
diet  is  the  most  easy  of  digestion. 

I  have  dwelt  longer  on  this  subject  than  I  intended,  and  longer 
than  perhaps  I  ought ;  for  having  laid  down,  as  my  foundation, 
that  the  Scripture  is  a  rule ;  that  in  all  things  needful  to  salva- 
tion it  is  clear,  sufficient,  and  ordained  by  God  Almighty  for 
that  purpose,  I  have  left  myself  no  right  to  interpret  obscure 
places,  such  as  concern  the  possibility  of  eternal  happiness  to 
heathens  :  because  whatsoever  is  obscure  is  concluded  not  neces- 
sary to  be  known. 

But,  by  asserting  the  Scripture  to  be  the  canon  of  our  faith, 
I  have  unavoidably  created  to  myself  two  sorts  of  enemies  :  the 
Papists  indeed,  more  directly,  because  they  have  kept  the  Scrip- 
ture from  us  what  they  could ;  and  have  reserved  to  themselves 
a  right  of  interpreting  what  they  have  delivered  under  the  pre- 
tence of  infallibility :  and  the  Fanatics  more  collaterally,  because 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  135 

they  have  assumed  what  amounts  to  an  infallibility,  in  the 
private  spirit :  and  have  detorted  those  texts  of  Scripture  which 
are  not  necessary  to  salvation,  to  the  damnable  uses  of  sedition, 
disturbance,  and  destruction  of  the  civil  government.  To  begin 
with  the  Papists,  and  to  speak  freely,  I  think  them  the  less 
dangerous,  at  least  in  appearance,  to  our  present  state,  for  not 
only  the  penal  laws  are  in  force  against  them,  and  their  number 
is  contemptible;  but  also  their  peerage  and  commons  are  ex- 
cluded from  parliament,  and  consequently  those  laws  in  no 
probability  of  being  repealed.  A  general  and  uninterrupted 
plot  of  their  Clergy,  ever  since  the  Reformation,  I  suppose  all 
Protestants  believe  ;  for  it  is  not  reasonable  to  think  but  that  so 
many  of  their  orders,  as  were  outed  nwm  their  fat  possessions, 
would  endeavour  a  re-entrance  again^tmose  whom  they  account 
heretics.  As  for  the  late  design,  Mr.  Soieman's  letters,  for  aught 
I  know,  are  the  best  evidence  ;  and  what  they  discover,  without 
wire-drawing  their  sense,  or  malicious  glosses,  all  men  of  reason 
conclude  credible.  If  there  be  anything  more  than  this  required 
of  me,  I  must  believe  it  as  well  as  I  am  able,  in  spite  of  the 
witnesses,  and  out  of  a  decent  conformity  to  the  votes  of  parlia- 
ment ;  for  I  suppose  the  fanatics  will  not  allow  the  private  spirit 
in  this  case.  Here  the  infallibility  is  at  least  in  one  part  of  the 
government ;  and  our  understandings  as  well  as  our  wills  are 
represented.  But  to  raturn  to  Roman  Catholics,  how  can  we 
be  secure  from  the  practice  of  Jesuited  Papists  in  that  religion  ? 
For  not  two  or  three  of  that  order,  as  some  of  them  would  im- 
pose upon  us,  but  almost  the  whole  body  of  them  are  of  opinion, 
that  their  infallible  master  has  a  right  over  kings,  not  only  in 
spirituals  but  temporals.  Not  to  name  Mariana,  Bellarmine, 
Emanuel  Sa,  Molina,  Santarel,  Simancha,  and  at  least  twenty 
others  of  foreign  countries ;  we  can  produce  of  our  own  nation, 
Campian,  and  Doleman  or  Parsons,  besides  many  are  named 
whom  I  have  not  read,  who  all  of  them  attest  this  doctrine,  that 
the  Pope  can  depose  and  give  away  the  right  of  any  sovereign 
prince,  si  vel  paulum  deflexerit,  if  he  shall  never  so  little  warp  : 
but  if  he  once  comes  to  be  excommunicated,  then  the  bond  of 
obedience  is  taken  off  from  subjects;  and  they  may  and  ought 
to  drive  him,  like  another  Nebuchadnezzar,  ex  hominum  Ckristi- 
anorum  dominatu,  from  exercising  dominion  over  Christians  ;  and 
to  this  they  are  bound  by  virtue  of  divine  precept,  and  by  all 
the  ties  of  conscience  under  no  less  penalty  than  damnation. 
If  they  answer  me,  as  a  learned  priest  has  lately  written,  that 
this  doctrine  of  the  Jesuits  is  not  de  fide  ;  and  that  consequently 
they  are  not  obliged  by  it,  they  must  pardon  me,  if  I  think  they 
have  said  nothing  to  the  purpose ;  for  it  is  a  maxim  in  their 
Church,  where  points  of  faith  are  n9t  decided,  and  that  doctors 
are  of  contrary  opinions,  they  may  follow  which  part  they  please ; 
but  more  safely  the  most  received  and  most  authorized.     And 


136  RELIGIO  LAICI  ; 

their  champion  Bellarmine  has  told  the  world,  in  his  Apology, 
that  the  king  of  England  is  a  vassal  to  the  Pope,  ratione  dirccti 
dominii,  and  that  he  holds  in  villanage  of  his  Roman  landlord. 
Which  is  no  new  claim  put  in  for  England  Our  chronicles  are 
his  authentic  witnesses,  that  king  John  was  deposed  by  the 
same  plea,  and  Philip  Augustus  admitted  tenant.  And  which 
makes  the  more  for  Bellarmine,  the  French  king  was  again 
ejected  when  our  king  submitted  to  the  Church,  and  the  crown 
received  under  the  sordid  condition  of  a  vassalage. 

It  is  not  sufficient  for  the  more  moderate  and  well-meaning 
Papists,  of  which  I  doubt  not  there  are  many,  to  produce  the 
evidences  of  their  loyalty  to  the  late  king,  and  to  declare  their 
innocency  in  this  plot :  I  will  grant  their  behaviour,  in  the  first, 
to  have  been  as  loyal  and  as  brave  as  they  desire ;  and  will  be 
"Willing  to  hold  them  excused  as  to  the  second,  I  mean  when  it 
comes  to  my  turn,  and  after  my  betters ;  for  it  is  a  madness  to 
be  sober  alone,  while  the  nation  continues  drunk :  but  that  saying 
of  their  father  Ores,  is  still  running  in  my  head,  that  they  may 
be  dispensed  with  in  their  obedience  to  an  heretic  prince,  while 
the  necessity  of  the  times  shall  oblige  them  to  it :  for  that,  as 
another  of  them  tells  us,  is  only  the  effect  of  Christian  prudence; 
but  when  once  they  shall  get  power  to  shake  him  off,  an  heretic 
is  no  lawful  king,  and  consequently  to  rise  against  him  is  no 
rebellion.  1  should  be  glad,  therefore,  that  they  would  follow 
the  advice  which  was  charitably  given  them  by  a  reverend  pre- 
late of  our  Church ;  namely,  that  they  would  join  in  a  public 
act  of  disowning  and  detesting  those  Jesuitic  principles  ;  and 
subscribe  to  all  doctrines  which  deny  the  Pope's  authority  of 
deposing  kings,  and  releasing  subjects  from  their  oath  of  alle- 
giance :  to  which  I  should  think  they  might  easily  be  induced, 
if  it  be  true  that  this  present  Pope  has  condemned  the  doctrine 
of  king-killing,  a  thesis  of  the  Jesuits,  amongst  others,  ex  cathedrd 
as  they  call  it,  or  in  open  consistory. 

Leaving  them  therefore  in  so  fair  a  way,  if  they  please  them- 
selves, of  satisfying  all  reasonable  men  of  their  sincerity  and 
good  meaning  to  the  government,  I  shall  make  bold  to  consider 
that  other  extreme  of  our  religion,  I  mean  the  Fanatics,  or 
Schismatics,  of  the  English  Church.  Since  the  Bible  has  been 
translated  into  our  tongue,  they  have  used  it  so,  as  if  their 
business  was  not  to  be  saved  but  to  be  damned  by  its  contents. 
If  we  consider  only  them,  better  had  it  been  for  the  English 
^nation  that  it  had  still  remained  in  the  original  Greek  and 
Hebrew,  or  at  least  in  the  honest  Latin  of  St.  Jerome,  than  that 
several  texts  in  it  should  have  been  prevaricated  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  that  government  which  put  it  into  so  ungrateful  hands. 

How  many  heresies  the  first  translation  of  Tindal  produced 
in  few  years,  let  my  lord  Herbert's  history  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
inform  you;  insomuch,  that  for  the  gross  errors  in  it,  and  the 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  137 

great  miscliiefs  it  occasioned,  a  sentence  passed  on  the  first  edition 
of  the  Bible,  too  shameful  almost  to  be  repeated.  After  the  short 
reign  of  Edward  the  Sixth,  who  had  continued  to  carry  on  the 
Reformation  on  other  principles  than  it  was  begun,  every  one 
knows  that  not  only  the  chief  promoters  of  that  work,  but  many 
others,  whose  consciences  would  not  dispense  with  Popery,  were 
forced,  for  fear  of  persecution,  to  change  climates  :  from  whence 
returning  at  the  beginning  of  queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  many  of 
them  who  had  been  in  France,  and  at  Geneva,  brought  back  the 
rigid  opinions  and  imperious  discipline  of  Calvin,  to  graft  upon 
our  Reformation.  Which,  though  they  cunningly  concealed  at 
first,  as  well  knowing  how  nauseously  that  drug  would  go  down 
in  a  lawful  Monarchy,  which  was  prescribed  for  a  rebellious 
Commonwealth,  yet  they  always  kept  it  in  reserve ;  and  were 
never  wanting  to  themselves  either  in  court  or  parliament,  when 
either  they  had  any  prospect  of  a  numerous  party  of  fanatic 
members  of  the  one,  or  the  encouragement  of  any  favourite  in 
the  other,  whose  covetousness  was  gaping  at  the  patrimony  of 
the  Church.  They  who  will  consult  the  works  of  our  venerable 
Hooker,  or  the  account  of  his  life,  or  more  particularly  the  letter 
written  to  him  on  this  subject,  by  George  Cranmer,  may  see  by 
what  gradations  they  proceeded ;  from  the  dislike  of  cap  and 
surplice,  the  very  next  step  was  admonitions  to  the  parliament 
against  the  whole  government  ecclesiastical :  then  came  out 
volumes  in  English  and  Latin  in  defence  of  their  tenets  :  and 
immediately  practices  were  set  on  foot  to  erect  their  discipline 
without  authority.  Those  not  succeeding,  satire  and  railing  was 
the  next  :  and  Martin  Mar-prelate,  the  Marvel  of  those  times, 
was  the  first  presbyterian  scribbler,  who  sanctified  libels  and 
scurrility  to  the  use  of  the  good  old  cause.  Which  was  done, 
says  my  author,  upon  this  account ;  that  their  serious  treatises 
having  been  fully  answered  and  refuted,  they  might  compass  by 
railing  what  they  had  lost  by  reasoning ;  and,  when  their  cause 
was  sunk  in  court  and  parliament,  they  might  at  least  hedge  in 
a  stake  amongst  the  rabble  :  for  to  their  ignorance  all  things 
are  wit  which  are  abusive ;  but  if  Church  and  State  were  made 
the  theme,  then  the  doctoral  degree  of  wit  was  to  be  taken  at 
Billingsgate  :  even  the  most  saintlike  of  the  party,  though  they 
durst  not  ex(?use  this  contempt  and  vilifying  of  the  government, 
yet  were  pleased,  and  grinned  at  it  with  a  pious  smile ;  and 
called  it  a  judgment  of  God  against  the  hierarchy.  Thus  secta- 
ries, we  may  see,  were  born  with  teeth,  foul-mouthed  and  scurri- 
lous from  their  infancy :  and  if  spiritual  pride,  venom,  violence, 
contempt  of  superiors,  and  slander,  had  been  the  marks  of 
orthodox  belief ;  the  presbytery  and  the  rest  of  our  schismatics, 
which  are  their  spawn,  were  always  the  most  visible  Church  in 
the  Christian  world. 

It  la  true,  the  government  was  too  strong  at  that  time  for  a 
14 


138  RELIGIO  LAICI  ; 

rebellion  ;  but  to  snow  what  proficiency  tbey  had  made  in  Cal- 
vin's school,  even  then  their  mouths  watered  at  it :  for  two  of 
their  gifted  brotherhood,  Hacket  and  Coppinger,  as  the  story 
tells  us,  got  up  into  a  pease-cart,  and  harangued  the  people,  to 
dispose  them  to  an  insurrection,  and  to  establish  their  discipline 
by  force  :  so  that  however  it  comes  about,  that  now  they  cele- 
brate queen  Elizabeth's  birth-night,  as  that  of  their  saint  and 
patroness ;  yet  then  they  were  for  doing  the  work  of  the  Lord 
by  arms  against  her ;  and  in  all  probability  they  wanted  but  a 
fanatic  lord  mayor  and  two  sheriffs  of  their  party,  to  have  com- 
passed it. 

Our  venerable  Hooker,  after  many  admonitions  which  he  had 
given  them,  towards  the  end  of  his  preface,  breaks  out  into  this 
prophetic  speech  :  "  There  is  in  every  one  of  these  considerations 
most  just  cause  to  fear,  lest  our  hastiness  to  embrace  a  thing  of 
so  perilous  consequence,"  (meaning  the  presbyterian  discipline,) 
*'  should  cause  posterity  to  feel  those  evils,  which  as  yet  are 
more  easy  for  us  to  prevent,  than  they  would  be  for  them  to 
remedy." 

How  fatally  this  Cassandra  has  foretold  we  know  too  well  by 
sad  experience  :  the  seeds  were  sown  in  the  time  of  queen 
Elizabeth,  the  bloody  harvest  ripened  in  the  reign  of  king 
Charles  the  Martyr :  and  because  all  the  sheaves  could  not  be 
carried  off  without  shedding  some  of  the  loose  grains,  another 
crop  is  too  likely  to  follow ;  nay,  I  fear  it  is  unavoidable  if  the 
conventiclers  be  permitted  still  to  scatter. 

A  man  may  be  suffered  to  quote  an  adversary  to  our  religion, 
when  he  speaks  truth  :  and  it  is  the  observation  of  Maimbourg, 
in  his  History  of  Calvinism,  that  wherever  that  discipline  was 
planted  and  embraced,  rebellion,  civil  war,  and  misery  attended 
it.  And  how  indeed  should  it  happen  otherwise  ?  Reformation 
of  Church  and  State  has  always  been  the  ground  of  our  divisions 
in  England.  While  we  were  Papists,  our  holy  father  rid  us,  by 
pretending  authority  out  of  the  Scriptures  to  depose  princes; 
when  we  shook  off  his  authority,  the  sectaries  furnished  them- 
selves with  the  same  weapons ;  and  out  of  the  same  magazine, 
the  Bible  :  so  that  the  Scriptures,  which  are  in  themselves  the 
greatest  security  of  governors,  as  commanding  express  obedience 
to  them,  are  now  turned  to  their  destruction  ;  and  never  since 
the  Reformation  has  there  wanted  a  text  of  their  interpreting 
to  authorize  a  rebel.  And  it  is  to  be  noted  by  the  way,  that  the 
doctrines  of  king-killing  and  deposing,  which  have  been  taken 
up  only  by  the  worst  party  of  the  Papists,  the  most  frontless 
flatterers  of  the  Pope's  authority,  have  been  espoused,  defended, 
and  are  still  maintained  by  the  whole  body  of  Nonconformists 
and  republicans.  It  is  but  dubbing  themselves  the  people  of 
God,  which  it  is  the  interest  of  their  preachers  to  tell  them  they 
are,  and  their  own  interest  to  believe;  and  after  that,  they 


Religio  Laici. 


"  Dim  as  the  borrowed  beam  of  moon  and  stars, 
To  lonely,  weary,  wandering  travellers/'. 


p.  189. 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  139 

cannot  dip  into  the  Bible,  but  one  text  or  other  will  turn  up  for 
their  purpose  :  if  they  are  under  persecution,  as  they  call  it,  then 
that  is  a  mark  of  their  election ;  if  they  flourish,  then  God 
works  miracles  for  their  deliverance,  and  the  saints  are  to 
possess  the  earth. 

They  may  think  themselves  to  be  too  roughly  handled  in  this 
paper ;  but  I  who  know  best  how  far  I  could  have  gone  on  this 
subject,  must  be  bold  to  tell  them  they  are  spared :  though  at 
the  same  time  I  am  not  ignorant  that  they  interpret  the  mild- 
ness of  a  writer  to  them,  as  they  do  the  mercy  of  the  govern- 
ment ;  in  the  one  they  think  it  fear,  and  conclude  it  weakness 
in  the  other.  The  best  way  for  them  to  confute  me  is,  as  I 
before  advised  the  Papists,  to  disclaim  their  principles  and 
renounce  their  practices.  We  shall  all  be  glad  to  think  them 
true  Englishmen  when  they  obey  the  King,  and  true  Protestants 
when  they  conform  to  the  Church-discipline. 

It  remains  that  I  acquaint  the  reader,  that  these  verses  were 
written  for  an  ingenious  young  gentlemen  my  friend,  upon  his 
translation  of  The  Critical  History  of  the  Old  Testament,  com- 
posed by  the  learned  father  Simon :  the  verses  therefore  are 
addressed  to  the  translator  of  that  work,  and  the  style  of  them 
is,  what  it  ought  to  be,  epistolary. 

If  any  one  be  so  lamentable  a  critic  as  to  require  the  smooth- 
ness, the  numbers,  and  the  turn  of  heroic  poetry  in  this  poem ; 
I  must  tell  him,  that  if  he  has  not  read  Horace,  I  have  studied 
him,  and  hope  the  style  of  his  epistles  is  not  ill  imitated  here. 
The  expressions  of  a  poem  designed  purely  for  instruction, 
ought  to  be  plain  and  natural,  and  yet  majestic ;  for  here  the 
poem  is  presumed  to  be  a  kind  of  lawgiver,  and  those  three 
qualities  which  I  have  named,  are  proper  to  the  legislative  style. 
The  florid,  elevated,  and  figurative  way  is  for  the  passions ;  for 
love  and  hatred,  fear  and  anger,  are  begotten  in  the  soul,  by 
showing  their  objects  out  of  their  true  proportion,  either  greater 
than  the  life  or  less  :  but  instruction  is  to  be  given  by  showing 
them  what  they  naturally  are.  A  man  is  to  be  cheated  into  pas- 
sion, but  to  be  reasoned  into  truth. 


RELIGIO  LAICI. 

Dm  as  the  borrow'd  beams  of  moon  and  stars 
To  lonely,  weary,  wandering  travellers, 
Is  Reason  to  the  soul :  and  as  on  high, 
Those  rolling  fires  discover  but  the  sky, 
Not  light  us  here  ;  so  Reason's  glimmering  ray 


140  RELIGIO  LAICI; 

Was  lent,  not  to  assure  our  doubtful  way, 
But  guide  us  upward  to  a  better  day. 
And  as  those  nightly  tapers  disappear, 
When  day's  bright  lord  ascends  our  hemisphere ; 
So  pale  grows  Reason  at  Religion's  sight ; 
So  dies,  and  so  dissolves  in  supernatural  light. 
Some  few,  whose  lamp  shone  brighter,  have  been  led 
From  cause  to  cause,  to  nature's  secret  head  ; 
And  found  that  one  first  principle  must  be-- 
But  what,  or  who,  that  universal  He  ; 
Whether  some  soul  incompassing  this  ball, 
Unmade,  unmoved  ;  yet  making,  moving  all ; 
jOr  various  atoms'  interfering  dance 
'Leap'd  into  form,  the  noble  work  of  chance; 
Or  this  great  all  was  from  eternity ; 
Not  even  the  Stagirite  himself  could  see  : 
And  Epicurus  guess' d  as  well  as  he. 
As  blindly  groped  they  for  a  future  state ; 
As  rashly  judged  of  providence  and  fate: 
But  least  of  all  could  their  endeavours  find 
What  most  concern'd  the  good  of  human  kind ; 
For  happiness  was  never  to  be  found, 
But  vanish' d  from  'em  like  enchanted  ground. 
One  thought  Content  the  good  to  be  enjoy'd; 
This  every  little  accident  destroy'd : 
The  wiser  madmen  did  for  Virtue  toil, 
A  thorny  or  at  best  a  barren  soil : 
In  Pleasure  some  their  glutton  souls  would  steep, 
•  But  found  their  line  too  short,  the  well  too  deep; 
And  leaky  vessels  which  no  bliss  could  keep. 
Thus  anxious  thoughts  in  endless  circles  roll, 
Without  a  centre  where  to  fix  the  soul : 
In  this  wild  maze  their  vain  endeavours  end : 
How  can  the  less  the  greater  comprehend] 
Or  finite  reason  reach  Infinity  ? 
For  what  could  fathom  God  were  more  than  He. 
The  Deist  thinks  he  stands  on  firmer  ground; 
Cries,  Eureka — the  mighty  secret  's  found : 
God  is  that  spring  of  good  ;  supreme,  and  best ; 
We,  made  to  serve,  and  in  that  service  blest : 
If  so,  some  rules  of  worship  ngust  be  given. 
Distributed  ahke  to  all  by  Heaven ; 
Else  God  were  partial,  and  to  some  denied 
The  means  his  justice  should  for  all  provide. 


OE,  A  layman's  faith.  141 

This  general  worship  is  to  praise  and  pray : 
One  part  to  borrow  blessings,  one  to  pay : 
And  when  frail  nature  slides  into  offence, 
The  sacrifice  for  crimes  is  penitence. 
Yet  since  the  effects  of  providence,  we  find, 
Are  variously  dispensed  to  human  kind ; 
That  vice  triumphs,  and  virtue  suffers  here, 
A  brand  that  sovereign  justice  cannot  bear  ;       i 
Our  reason  prompts  us  to  a  future  state  :  \ 

The  last  appeal  from  fortune  and  from  fate  :  f 
Where  God's  all-righteous  ways  will  be  declared 
The  bad  meet  punishment,  the  good  reward. 

Thus  man  by  his  own  strength  to  heaven  would  soar : 
And  would  not  be  obliged  to  God  for  more.        _ 
Vain,  wretched  creature,  how  art  thou  misled""  ~ 

To  think  thy  wit  these  god-like  notions  bred !  \ 
These  truths  are  not  the  product  of  thy  mind. 
But  dropt  from  Heaven,  and  of  a  nobler  kind. 
Revealed  Religion  first  inform'd  thy  sight. 
And  Reason  saw  not,  till  Faith  sprung  the  light. 
Hence  all  thy  natural  worship  takes  the  source  ; 
'Tis  revelation  what  thou  think'st  discourse : 
Else  how  com'st  thou  to  see  these  truths  so  clear, 
Which  so  obscure  to  Heathens  did  appear  ? 
Not  Plato  these,  nor  Aristotle  found  : 
Nor  he  whose  wisdom  oracles  renown' d. 
Hast  thou  a  wit  so  deep,  or  so  sublime. 
Or  canst  thou  lower  dive,  or  higher  climb  ? 
Canst  thou  by  reason  more  of  Godhead  know 
Than  Plutarch,  Seneca,  or  Cicero  ? 
Those  giant  wits  in  happier  ages  born, 
(When  arms  and  arts  did  Greece  and  Rome  adorn,) 
Knew  no  such  system  :  no  such  piles  could  raise 
Of  natural  worship,  built  on  prayer  and  praise 
To  one  sole  God. 

Nor  did  remorse  to  expiate  sin  prescribe  : 
But  slew  their  fellow-creatures  for  a  bribe  : 
The  guiltless  victim  groan'd  for  their  offence  ; 
And  cruelty  and  blood  was  penitence. 
Jf  sheep  and  oxen  could  atone  for  men. 
Ah !  at  how  cheap  a  rate  the  rich  might  sin  ; 
And  great  oppressors  might  Heaven's  wrath  beguile. 
By  offering  his  own  creatures  for  a  spoil ! 
14* 


142  t.'  RELIGIO  LAICI  ; 

Dar'st  thou,  poor  worm,  offend  Infinity  ? 
And  must  the  terms  of  peace  be  given  by  thee  1 
Then  thou  art  Justice  in  the  last  appeal ; 
Thy  easy  God  instructs  thee  to  rebel : 
And,  like  a  king  remote,  and  weak,  must  take 
"What  satisfaction  thou  art  pleased  to  make. 

But  if  there  be  a  power  too  just  and  strong 
To  wink  at  crimes,  and  bear  unpunished  wrong ; 
Look  humbly  upward,  see  his  will  disclose 
The  forfeit  first,  and  then  the  fine  impose  : 
A  mulct  thy  poverty  could  never  pay, 
Had  not  Eternal  Wisdom  found  the  way : 
And  with  celestial  wealth  supplied  thy  store  : 
His  justice  makes  the  fine,  his  mercy  quits  the  score. 
See  God  descending  in  thy  human  frame  ; 
The  offended  suffering  in  the  offender's  name ; 
All  thy  misdeeds  to  him  imputed  see, 
And  all  his  righteousness  devolved  on  thee. 

For  granting  we  have  sinn'd,  and  that  the  offence 
Of  man  is  made  against  Omnipotence, 
Some  price  that  bears  proportion  must  be  paid, 
And  infinite  with  infinite  be  weigh'd. 
See  then  the  Deist  lost ;  remorse  for  vice 
Not  paid,  or  paid,  inadequate  in  price  : 
What  farther  means  can  Reason  now  direct, 
Or  what  relief  from  human  wit  expect  1 
That  shows  us  sick  ;  and  sadly  are  we  sure 
Still  to  be  sick,  till  Heaven  reveal  the  cure  : 
If  then  Heaven's  will  must  needs  be  understood, 
(Which  must,  if  we  want  cure,  and  Heaven  be  good,) 
Let  all  records  of  will  revealed  be  shown  ; 
With  Scripture  all  in  equalbalance  thrown, 
And  our  one  sacred  book  will  be  that  one. 

Proof  needs  not  here,  for  whether  we  compare 
That  impious,  idle,  superstitious  ware 
Of  rites,  lustrations,  offerings,  which  before, 
In  various  ages,  various  countries  bore, 
With  Christian  faith  and  virtues,  we  shall  find 
None  answering  the  great  ends  of  human  kind. 
But  this  one  rule  of  life,  that  shows  us  best 
How  God  may  be  appeased,  and  mortals  blest. 
Whether  from  length  of  time  its  worth  we  draw, 
The  world  is  scarce  more  ancient  than  the  law : 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  143 

Heaven's  early  care  prescribed  for  every  age,  C. 

First,  in  the  soul,  and  after  in  the  page.  '      / 

Or,  whether  more  abstractedly  we  look,  ^ 

Or  on  the  writers,  or  the  written  book, 

Whence,  but  from  Heaven,  could  men  unskill'd  in  arts, 

In  several  ages  born,  in  several  parts, 

Weave  such  agreeing  truths  ?  or  how,  or  why. 

Should  all  conspire  to  cheat  us  with  a  lie  ] 

Unask'd  their  pains,  ungrateful  their  advice. 

Starving  their  gain,  and  martyrdom  their  price.  | 

If  on  the  book  itself  we  cast  our  view, 
Concurrent  heathens  prove  the  story  true  : 
The  doctrine,  miracles  ;  which  must  convince, 
For  Heaven  in  them  appeals  to  human  sense  : 
And  though  they  prove  not,  they  confirm  the  cause, 
When  what  is  taught  agrees  with  nature's  laws.       • 

Then  for  the  style,  majestic  and  divine,  s 

It  speaks  no  less  than  God  in  every  line  :  L 

Commanding  words,  whose  force  is  still  the  same      / 
As  the  first  fiat  that  produced  our  frame.  / 

AU  faiths  beside,  or  did  by  arms  ascend. 
Or  sense  indulged  has  made  mankind  their  friend : 
This  only  doctrine  does  our  lusts  oppose  : 
Unfed  by  nature's  soil,  in  which  it  grows  ; 
Cross  to  our  interests,  curbing  sense  and  sin ; 
Oppress'd  without,  and  undermined  within. 
It  thrives  through  pain  ;  its  own  tormentors  tires ; 
.  And  with  a  stubborn  patience  still  aspires. 
To  what  can  Reason  such  efiects  assign 
Transcending  nature,  but  to  laws  divine  ? 
Which  in  that  sacred  volume  are  contain'd ; 
Sufficient,  clear,  and  for  that  use  ordain'd. 

But  stay :  the  Deist  here  will  urge  anew, 
No  supernatural  worship  can  be  true  : 
Because  a  general  law  is  that  alone 
Which  must  to  all,  and  every  where,  be  known : 
A  style  so  large  as  not  this  book  can  claim, 
Nor  aught  that  bears  revealed  religion's  name. 
'Tis  said  the  sound  of  a  Messiah's  birth 
Is  gone  through  aU  the  habitable  earth : 
But  stiU  that  text  must  be  confined  alone 
To  what  was  then  inhabited  and  known : 
And  what  provision  could  from  thence  accrue 
To  Indian  souls,  and  worlds  discover'd  new  ? 


144  '  EELIGIO  LAICI  ; 

In  other  parts  it  helps,  that,  ages  past, 
The  Scriptures  there  were  known,  and  were  embraced, 
Till  Sin  spread  once  again  the  shades  of  night : 
What's  that  to  these  who  never  saw  the  light  ] 

Of  all  objections  this  indeed  is  chief, 
To  startle  reason,  stagger  frail  belief : 
We  grant,  'tis  true,  that  Heaven  from  human  sense 
Has  hid  the  secret  paths  of  Providence  : 
But  boundless  wisdom,  boundless  mercy,  may 
Find  even  for  those  bewilder'd  souls  a  way  : 
If  from  his  nature,  foes  may  pity  claim, 
Much  more  may  strangers  who  ne'er  heard  his  name : 
And  though  no  name  be  for  salvation  known, 
But  that  of  his  eternal  Son's  alone  ; 
Who  knows  how  far  transcending  goodness  can 
Extend  the  merits  of  that  Son  to  man  ? 
Who  knows  what  reasons  may  his  mercy  lead  ; 
Or  ignorance  invincible  may  plead  ? 
Not  only  charity  bids  hope  the  best, 
But  more  the  great  apostle  has  express'd : 
That  if  the  Gentiles,  whom  no  law  inspired, 
By  nature  did  what  was  by  law  required  ; 
They,  who  the  written  rule  had  never  known, 
Were  to  themselves  both  rule  and  law  alone : 
To  nature's  plain  indictment  they  shall  plead  ; 
And  by  their  conscience  be  condemn'd  or  freed. 
Most  righteous  doom  !  because  a  rule  revealed 
Is  none  to  those  from  whom  it  was  concealed. 
Then  those  who  follow'd  Reason's  dictates  righi 
Lived  up,  and  lifted  high  their  natural  light ; 
With  Socrates  may  see  their  Maker's  face, 
While  thousand  rubric  martyrs  want  a  place. 

Nor  does  it  balk  my  charity,  to  find 
The  Egyptian  bishop  of  another  mind  : 
Eor  though  his  creed  eternal  truth  contains, 
'Tis  hard  for  man  to  doom  to  endless  pains  \ 
All  who  believed  not  all  his  zeal  required  ;     | 
Unless  he  first  could  prove  he  was  inspired.  * 
Then  let  us  either  think  he  meant  to  say 
This  faith,  where  publish'd,  was  the  only  way  j 
Or  else  conclude,  that,  Arius  to  confute. 
The  good  old  man,  too  eager  in  dispute, 
Flew  high  ;  and,  as  his  Christian  fury  rose, 
Damn'd  all  for  heretics  who  durst  oppose. 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  145 

Thus  far  my  charity  this  path  has  tried  ; 
(A  much  unskilful,  but  well-meaning  guide  :) 
Yet  what  they  are,  e'en  these  crude  thoughts  were  bred 
By  reading  that  which  better  thou  hast  read  : 
Thy  matchless  author's  work  :  which  thou,  my  friend, 
By  well  translating  better  dost  commend  : 
Those  youthful  hours,  which,  of  thy  equals  most 
In  toys  have  squander'd,  or  in  vice  have  lost, 
Those  hours  hast  thou  to  nobler  use  employ'd, 
And  the  severe  delights  of  truth  enjoy'd. 
"Witness  this  weighty  book,  in  which  appears 
The  crabbed  toil  of  many  thoughtful  years, 
Spent  by  thy  author,  in  the  sifting  care 
Of  Rabbins'  old  sophisticated  ware 
From  gold  divine  ;  which  he  "who  well  can  sort 
May  afterwards  make  algebra  a  sport. 
A  treasure,  which  if  country  curates  buy, 
They  Junius  and  Tremellius  may  defy  : 
Save  pains  in  various  readings  and  translations, 
And  without  Hebrew  make  most  learn'd  quotations. 
A  work  so  full  with  various  learning  fraught, 
So  nicely  ponder'd,  yet  so  strongly  wrought. 
As  Nature's  height  and  Art's  last  hand  inquired  ; 
As  much  as  man  could  compass,  uninspired  : 
Where  we  may  see  what  errors  have  been  made 
Both  in  the  copiers'  and  translators'  trade  : 
How  Jewish — Popish — interests,  have  prevail'd. 
And  where  infallibility  has  fail'd. 

For  some,  who  have  his  secret  meaning  guess'd. 
Have  found  our  author  not  too  much  a  priest : 
For  fashion-sake  he  seems  to  have  recourse 
To  Pope,  and  Councils,  and  Tradition's  force  : 
But  he  that  old  traditions  could  subdue, 
Could  not  but  find  the  weakness  of  the  new.        \ 
If  Scripture,  though  derived  from  heavenly  birth, 
Has  been  but  carelessly  preserved  on  earth ; 
If  God's  own  people,  who  of  God  before 
Knew  what  we  know,  and  had  been  promised  more, 
In  fuller  terms,  of  Heaven's  assisting  care. 
And  who  did  neither  time  nor  study  spare 
To  keep  this  book  untainted,  unperplex'd, 
Let  in  gross  errors  to  corrupt  the  text, 
Omitted  paragraphs,  embroil'd  the  sense, 
With  vain  traditions  stopped  the  gaping  fence, 


146  RELIGIO  LAICi; 

"Which  every  common  hand  puU'd  up  with  ease : 
What  safety  from  such  brushwood-helps  as  these  ? 
If  written  words  from  time  are  not  secured, 
How  can  we  think  have  oral  soimds  endured  ? 
"Which  thus  transmitted,  if  one  mouth  has  fail'd, 
Immortal  lies  on  ages  are  entail' d  : 
And  that  some  such  have  been,  is  proved  too  plain ; 
If  we  consider  Interest,  Church,  and  Gain. 

Oh,  but,  says  one.  Tradition  set  aside, 
Where  can  we  hope  for  an  unerring  guide  1 
For  since  the  original  Scripture  has  been  lost, 
All  copies  disagreeing,  maim'd  the  most. 
Or  Christian  faith  can  have  no  certain  ground, 
Or  truth  in  Ohurch  Tradition  must  be  found. 

Such  an  omniscient  Church  we  wish  indeed  ; 
'Twere  worth  both  Testaments  ;  and  cast  in  the  Creed 
But  if  this  mother  be  a  guide  so  sure, 
As  can  all  doubts  resolve,  all  truth  secure, 
Then  her  infallibihty,  as  well, 
Where  copies  are  corrupt  or  lame,  can  tell ; 
Restore  lost  canon  with  as  little  pains, 
As  truly  explicate  what  still  remains  : 
Which  yet  no  Council  dare  pretend  to  do, 
Unless  like  Esdras  they  could  write  it  new : 
Strange  confidence,  still  to  interpret  true, 
Yet  not  be  sure  that  all  they  have  explained, 
,Is  in  the  blest  original  contain'd. 
More  safe,  and  much  more  modest  'tis,  to  say 
God  would  not  leave  mankind  without  a  way : 
And  that  the  Scriptures,  though  not  every  where 
Free  from  corruption,  or  entire,  or  clear, 
Are  uncorrupt,  sufficient,  clear,  entire. 
In  all  things  which  our  needful  faith  require. 
If  others  in  the  same  glass  better  see, 
'Tis  for  themselves  they  look,  but  not  for  me  : 
For  mt/  salvation  must  its  doom  receive, 
Not  from  what  others  but  what  /  believe. 

Must  all  tradition  then  be  set  aside  1 — 
This  to  affirm  were  ignorance  or  pride. 
Are  there  not  many  points,  some  needful,  sure, 
To  saving  faith,  that  Scripture  leaves  obscure  ? 
Which  every  sect  wiU  wrest  a  several  way, 
For  what  one  sect  interprets,  all  sects  may  : 
We  hold,  and  say  we  prove  from  Scripture  plain, 


OR,  A  layman's  faith.  147 

That  Christ  is  God  ;  the  bold  Socinian 
From  the  same  Scripture  urges  he's  but  man, 
Now  what  appeal  can  end  the  important  suit  ? 
Both  parts  talk  loudly,  but  the  rule  is  mute. 

ShaU  I  speak  plain,  and  in  a  nation  free 
Assume  an  honest  layman's  liberty  ] 
I  think,  (according  to  my  little  skiU — 
To  my  own  mother-church  submitting  still) 
That  many  have  been  saved,  and  many  may, 
Who  never  heard  this  question  brought  in  play. 
The  unletter'd  Christian,  who  believes  in  gross, 
Plods  on  to  heaven,  and  ne'er  is  at  a  loss  : 
For  the  strait-gate  would  be  made  straiter  yet, 
Were  none  admitted  there  but  men  of  wit. 
The  few  by  nature  form'd,  with  learning  fraught, 
Born  to  instruct^as  others  to  be  taught, 
Must  study  well  the  sacred  page  :  and  see 
Which  doctrine,  this,  or  that,  does  best  agree 
With  the  whole  tenor  of  the  work  divine  ; 
And  plainliest  points  to  Heaven's  reveal'd  design  \ 
Which  exposition  flows  from  genuine  sense  ; 
And  which  is  forced  by  wit  and  eloquence. 
Not  that  tradition's  parts  are  useless  here  : 
When  general,  old,  disinteressed,  clear  : 
That  ancient  Fathers  thus  expound  the  page, 
Gives  truth  the  reverend  majesty  of  age  : 
Confirms  its  force,  by  biding  every  test ; 
For  best  authority's  next  rules  are  best : 
And  still  the  nearer  to  the  spring  we  go. 
More  limpid,  more  unsoil'd,  the  waters  flow. 
Thus,  first  traditions  were  a  proof  alone  ; 
Could  we  be  certain  such  they  were,  so  known : 
But  since  some  flaws  in  long  descent  may  be, 
They  make  not  truth  but  probability.        ^ 
Even  Arius  and  Pelagius  durst  provoke 
To  what  the  centuries  preceding  spoke. 
Such  difierence  is  there  in  an  oft-told  tale :    (^ 
But  truth  by  its  own  sinews  will  prevail.        \ 
Tradition  written  therefore  more  commends 
Authority,  than  what  from  voice  descends : 
And  this,  as  perfect  as  its  kind  can  be, 
Bolls  down  to  us  the  sacred  history : 
Which  from  the  Universal  Church  received, 
Ts  tried,  and  after,  for  itself  believed. 


148  RELIGIO  LAICI; 

The  partial  Papists  would  infer  from  hence 
Their  Church,  in  last  resort,  should  judge  the  sense. 
But  first  they  would  assume,  with  wondrous  art, 
Themselves  to  be  the  whole,  who  are  but  part 
Of  that  vast  frame,  the  Church  ;  yet  grant  they  were 
The  banders  down,  can  they  from  thence  infer 
A  right  to  interpret  ?  or  would  they  alone. 
Who  brought  the  present,  claim  it  for  their  own  ? 
The  Book 's  a  common  largess  to  mankind ; 
Not  more  for  them  than  every  man  design'd ; 
The  welcome  news  is  in  the  letter  found. 
The  carrier's  not  commission'd  to  expound. 
/  It  speaks  itself,  and  what  it  does  contain, 
I    In  all  things  needful  to  be  known,  is  plain. 

In  times  o'ergrown  with  rust  and  ignorance,   . 
A  gainful  trade  their  clergy  did  advance ; 
When  want  of  learning  kept  the  laymen  low, 
And  none  but  priests  were  authorised  to  know : 
When  what  small  knowledge  was,  in  them  did  dwell, 
And  he  a  god  who  could  but  read  or  spell ; 
Then  mother  Church  did  mightily  prevail: 
She  parcell'd  out  the  Bible  by  retail : 
But  still  expounded  what  she  sold  or  gave. 
To  keep  it  in  her  power  to  damn  and  save. 
Scripture  was  scarce,  and  as  the  market  went, 
Poor  laymen  took  salvation  on  content, 
As  needy  men  take  money  good  or  bad  ; 
God's  word  they  had  not,  but  the  priest's  they  had. 
Yet,  whate'er  false  conveyances  they  made. 
The  lawyer  still  was  certain  to  be  paid. 
In  those  dark  times  they  learn'd  their  knack  so  well, 
That  by  long  use  they  grew  infallible  : 
At  last,  a  knowing  age  began  to  inquire 
If  they  the  Bo^,  or  that  did  them  inspire  : 
And,  making  narrower  search,  they  found,  though  late, 
That  what  they  thought  the  priest's,  was  their  estate ; 
Taught  by  the  will  produced,  (the  written  word,) 
How  long  they  had  been  cheated  on  record. 
Then,  every  man  who  saw  the  title  fair 
Claim'd  a  child's  part,  and  put  in  for  a  share ; 
Consulted  soberly  his  private  good, 
And  saved  himself  as  cheap  as  e'er  he  could. 

'Tis  true,  my  friend,  (and  far  be  flattery  hence,) 
This  good  has  full  as  bad  a  consequence  ; 


OR,  A  LAYMAN  S  FAITH.  149 

The  Book  thus  put  in  every  vulgar  hand, 

Which  each  presumed  he  best  could  understand, 

The  common  rule  was  made  the  common  prey ; 

And  at  the  mercy  of  the  rabble  lay. 

The  tender  page  with  horny  fists  w^s  gall'd ; 

And  he  was  gifted  most  that  loudest  bawl'd  : 

The  spirit  gave  the  doctoral  degree  : 

And  every  member  of  a  company 

Was  of  his  trade,  and  of  the  Bible,  free. 

Plain  truths  enough  for  needful  use  they  found  ; 

But  men  would  still  be  itching  to  expound  : 

Each  was  ambitious  of  the  obscurest  place, 

No  measure  ta'en  from  knowledge,  all  from  grace. 

Study  and  pains  were  now  no  more  their  care  ; 

Texts  were  explained  by  fasting  and  by  prayer : 

This  was  the  fruit  the  private  spirit  brought : 

Occasion'd  by  great  zeal  and  little  thought. 

While  crowds  unlearn'd,  with  rude  devotion  warm. 

About  the  sacred  viands  buzz  and  swarm. 

The  fly-blown  text  creates  a  crawling  brood  ; 

And  turns  to  maggots  what  was  meant  for  food. 

A  thousand  daily  sects  rise  up  and  die  ; 

A  thousand  more  the  perish'd  race  supply : 

So  all  we  make  of  Heaven's  discover'd  will,  [ 

Is,  not  to  have  it,  or  to  use  it  ill. 

The  danger's  much  the  same  ;  on  several  shelves 

If  others  wreck  us,  or  we  wreck  ourselves. 

What  then  remains,  but,  waiving  each  extreme, 
The  tides  of  ignorance  and  pride  to  stem  ? 
Neither  so  rich  a  treasure  to  forego. 
Nor  proudly  seek  beyond  our  power  to  know : 
Faith  is  not  built  on  disquisitions  vain  ; 
The  things  we  must  believe  are  few  and  plain : 
But  since  men  will  believe  more  than  tl^  need, 
And  every  man  will  make  himself  a  cre^f 
In  doubtful  questions  'tis  the  safest  way 
To  learn  what  unsuspected  ancients  say : 
For  'tis  not  likely  we  should  higher  soar 
In  search  of  Heaven,  than  all  the  Church  before ; 
Nor  can  we  be  deceived,  unless  we  see 
The  Scripture  and  the  Fathers  disagree. 
If  after  all  they  stand  suspected  still, 
(For  no  man's  faith  depends  upon  his  will ;) 
1$ 


150  MAC  FLECKNOB. 

Tis  some  relief,  that  points  not  clearly  known, 
Without  much  hazard  may  be  let  alone  : 
And  after  hearing  what  our  Church  can  say, 
If  still  our  reason  runs  another  way, 
That  private  reason  'tis  more  just  to  curb, 
Than  by  disputes  the  public  peace  disturb. 
For  points  obscure  are  of  small  use  to  learn : 
/  But  common  quiet  is  mankind's  concern. 
Thus  have  I  made  my  own  opinions  clear ; 
Yet  neither  praise  expect  nor  censure  fear : 
And  this  unpolish'd,  rugged  verse  I  chose. 
As  fittest  for  discourse,  and  nearest  prose  : 
For  while  from  sacred  truth  I  do  not  swerve, 
Tom  Sternhold's,  or  Tom  Shadwell's  rhymes  will  serve. 


MAC  FLECKNOE. 

[Richard  Flecknoe,  Esq.,  from  whom  this  poem  derives  it  name,  was  an 
Irish  priest,  who  had,  according  to  his  own  declaration,  laid  aside  the 
mechanic  part  of  the  priesthood.  He  was  well  known  at  court;  yet,  out 
of  four  plays  which  he  wrote,  could  get  only  one  of  them  acted,  and  that 
was  damned.  Mr.  Thomas  Shadwell  is  the  hero  of  the  piece,  and  intro- 
duced, as  if  ^pitched  upon,  by  Flecknoe,  to  succeed  him  in  the  throne  of 
dulness;  for  Flecknoe  was  never  poet-laureat.] 

Ale  human  things  are  subject  to  decay. 
And  when  fate  summons,  monarchs  must  obey. 
This  Flecknoe  found,  who,  Hke  Augustus,  young 
Was  call'd  to  empire,  and  had  govern'd  long  ; 
In  prose  and  verse,  was  own'd,  without  dispute, 
Through  all  the  realms  of  Nonsense,  absolute. 
This  aged  prince,  now  flourishing  in  peace. 
And  bless'd  with^sue  of  a  large  increase  ; 
Worn  out  with  wRiness,  did  at  length  debate 
To  settle  the  succession  of  the  state  : 
And,  pondering,  which  of  all  his  sons  was  fit 
To  reign,  and  wage  immortal  war  with  wit. 
Cried,  "  'Tis  resolved  ;  for  nature  pleads,  that  he 
Should  only  rule,  who  most  resembles  me. 
Shadwell  alone  my  perfect  image  bears, 
^  Mature  in  dulness  from  his  tender  years : 
Shadwell  alone,  of  all  my  sons,  is  he, 
Who  stands  confirm'd  in  fall  stupidity. 


MAC  FLECKNOE.  151 

The  rest  to  some  faint  meaning  make  pretence, 

But  Shadwell  never  deviates  into  sense. 

Some  beams  of  wit  on  other  souls  may  fall, 

Strike  through,  and  make  a  lucid  interval ; 

But  ShadweU's  genuine  night  admits  no  ray, 

His  rising  fogs  prevail  upon  the  day. 

Besides,  his  goodly  fabric  fills  the  eye. 

And  seems  designed  for  thoughtless  majesty  : 

Thoughtless  as  monarch  oaks,  that  shade  the  plain, 

And,,  spread  in  solemn  state,  supinely  reign. 

Heywood  and  Shirley  were  but  types  of  thee, 

Thou  last  great  prophet  of  tautology. 

Even  I,  a  dunce  of  more  renown  than  they, 

Was  sent  before  but  to  prepare  thy  way 

And,  coarsely  clad  in  Norwich  drugget,  came 

To  teach  the  nations  in  thy  greater  name. 

My  warbling  lute,  the  lute  I  whilom  strung, 

When  to  king  John  of  Portugal  I  sung, 

Was  but  the  prelude  to  that  glorious  day. 

When  thou  on  silver  Thames  didst  cut  thy  way, 

With  well-timed  oars  before  the  royal  barge, 

Swell'd  with  the  pride  of  thy  celestial  charge ; 

And  big  with  hymn,  commander  of  an  host, 

The  like  was  ne'er  in  Epsom  blankets  toss'd. 

Methinks  I  see  the  new  Arion  sail. 

The  lute  still  trembling  underneath  thy  nail. 

At  thy  well-sharpen'd  thumb  from  shore  to  shore 

The  trebles  squeak  for  fear,  the  basses  roar  : 

Echoes  from  Passing-Alley  Shadwell  caU, 

And  Shadwell  they  resound  from  Aston-Hall. 

About  thy  boat  the  little  fishes  throng, 
■  As  at  the  morning  toast  that  floats  along. 

Sometimes,  as  prince  of  thy  harmonious  band. 

Thou  wield'st  thy  papers  in  thy  threshing  hand. 
*  St.  Andre's  feet  ne'er  kept  more  equal  time, 

Not  ev'n  the  feet  of  thy  own  Psyche's  rhyme : 

Though  they  in  number  as  in  sense  excel ; 

So  just,  so  hke  tautology,  they  fell, 

That,  pale  with  envy,  Singleton  forswore 

The  lute  and  sword,  which  he  in  triumph  bore, 

And  vow*d  he  ne'er  would  act  Villerius  more.'* 
Here  stopp'd  the  good  old  sire,  and  wept  for  joy, 

In  silent  raptures  of  the  hopeful  boy. 


162  MAC  FLECKNOE. 

All  argumeats,  but  most  his  plays,  persuade, 
That  for  anointed  dulness  he  was  made. 

Close  to  the  walls  which  fair  Augusta  bind, 
(The  fair  Augusta  much  to  fears  inclined) 
An  ancient  fabric  raised  to  inform  the  sight, 
There  stood  of  yore,  and  Barbican  it  hight : 
A  watch-tower  once ;  but  now,  so  fate  ordains, 
Of  all  the  pile  an  empty  name  remains  : 
From  its  old  ruins  brothel-houses  rise. 
Scenes  of  lewd  loves,  and  of  polluted  joys, 
Where  their  vast  courts  the  mother-strumpets  keep, 
And,  undisturb'd  by  watch,  in  silence  sleep. 
Near  these  a  nursery  erects  its  head. 
Where  queens  are  form'd,  and  future  heroes  bred ; 
Where  unfledged  actors  learn  to  laugh  and  cry, 
Where  infant  punks  their  tender  voices  try, 
And  little  Maximins  the  gods  defy. 
Great  Fletcher  never  treads  in  buskins  here. 
Nor  greater  Jonson  dares  in  socks  appear  ; 
But  gentle  Simkin  just  reception  finds 
Amidst  this  monument  of  vanish'd  minds  : 
Pure  clinches  the  suburbian  muse  afibrds, 
And  Panton  waging  harmless  war  with  words. 
Here  Flecknoe,  as  a  place  to  fame  well  known, 
Ambitiously  design'd  his  Shad  well's  throne. 
For  ancient  Decker  prophesied  long  since, 
That  in  this  pile  should  reign  a  mighty  prince, 
Born  for  a  scourge  of  wit,  and  flail  of  sense  : 
To  whom  true  dulness  should  some  Psyches  owe, 
But  worlds  of  Misers  from  his  pen  should  flow ; 
Humorists  and  Hypocrites  it  should  produce, 
Whole  Raymond  families,  and  tribes  of  Bruce. 

Now  empress  Fame  had  published  the  renown 
Of  Shadwell's  coronation  through  the  town. 
Roused  by  report  of  fame,  the  nations  meet, 
From  near  Bunhill,  and  distant  Watling-street. 
No  Persian  carpets  spread  the  imperial  way, 
But  scatter'd  limbs  of  mangled  poets  lay : 
From  dusty  shops  neglected  authors  come, 
Martyrs  of  pies,  and  reliques  of  the  bum. 
Much  Heywood,  Shirley,  Ogleby  there  lay, 
But  loads  of  Shadwell  almost  choked  the  way. 
Bilk'd  stationers  for  yeomen  stood  prepared, 
And  Herringmaa  was  captain  of  the  guard. 


MAC  FLECKNOE.  163 

The  hoary  prince  in  majesty  appear'd, 

High  on  a  throne  of  his  own  labours  rear'd. 

At  his  right  hand  our  young  Ascanius  sate, 

Rome's  other  hope,  and  pillar  of  the  state. 

His  brows  thick  fogs,  instead  of  glories,  grace, 

And  lambent  dulness  play'd  around  his  face. 

As  Hannibal  did  to  the  altars  come, 

Swore  by  his  sire,  a  mortal  foe  to  Rome  ; 

So  Shadwell  swore,  nor  should  his  vow  be  vain, 

That  he  till  death  true  dulness  would  maintain ; 

And,  in  his  father's  right,  and  realm's  defence. 

Ne'er  to  have  peace  with  wit,  nor  truce  with  sense. 

The  king  himself  the  sacred  unction  made. 

As  king  by  office,  and  as  priest  by  trade. 

In  his  sinister  hand,  instead  of  ball, 

He  placed  a  mighty  mug  of  potent  ale  ; 

Love's  kingdom  to  his  right  he  did  convey, 

At  once  his  sceptre,  and  his  rule  of  sway  ; 

Whose  righteous  lore  the  prince  had  practised  young; 

And  from  whose  loins  recorded  Psyche  sprung. 

His  temples,  last,  with  poppies  were  overspread, 

That  nodding  aeem'd  to  consecrate  his  head. 

Just  at  the  point  of  time,  if  fame  not  lie^ 

On  his  left  hand  twelve  reverend  owls  did  fly. 

So  Romulus,  'tis  sung,  by  Tyber's  brook, 

Presage  of  sway  from  twice  si*x  vultures  took. 

The  admiring  throng  loud  acclamations  make, 

And  omens  of  his  future  empire  take. 

The  sire  then  shook  the  honours  of  his  head, 

And  from  his  brows  damps  of  oblivion  shed 

Full  on  the  filial  dulness :  long  he  stood, 

Repelling  from  his  breast  the  raging  god  ; 

At  length  burst  out  in  this  prophetic  mood : — 

"  Heavens  bless  my  son,  from  Ireland  let  him  reign 
To  far  Barbadoes  on  the  western  main  ; 
Of  his  dominion  may  no  end  be  known, 
And  greater  than  his  father's  be  his  throne  ; 
Beyond  Love's  kingdom  let  him  stretch  his  pen  ! "— • 
He  paused,  and  all  the  people  cried.  Amen. 
Then  thus  continued  he  :  "  My  son,  advance 
Still  in  new  impudence,  new  ignorance. 
Success  let  others  teach,  learn  thou  from  me 
Pangs  without  birth,  and  fruitless  industry. 
15* 


154  MAC  FLECKNOB. 

Let  Virtuosos  in  five  years  be  writ ; 

Yet  not  one  thought  accuse  thy  toil  of  wit. 

Let  gentle  George  in  triumph  tread  the-  stage, 

Make  Dorirnant  betray,  and  Loveit  rage  ; 

Let  Cully,  Cockwood,  Fopling,  charm  the  pit, 

And  in  their  folly  show  the  writer's  wit. 

Yet  still  thy  fools  shall  stand  in  thy  defence, 

And  justify  their  author's  want  of  sense. 

Let  them  be  aU  by  thy  own  model  made 

Of  dulness,  and  desire  no  foreign  aid  ; 

That  they  to  future  ages  may  be  known, 

Not  copies  drawn,  but  issue  of  thy  own. 

Nay,  let  thy  men  of  wit  too  be  the  same, 

All  full  of  thee,  and  difiering  but  in  name. 

But  let  no  alien  Sedley  interpose, 

To  lard  with  wit  thy  hungry  Epsom  prose. 

And  when  false  Howers  of  rhetoric  thou  wouldst  cull. 

Trust  nature,  do  not  labour  to  be  dull ; 

But  write  thy  best,  and  top ;  and,  in  each  line, 

Sir  Formal's  oratory  will  be  thine  : 

Sir  Formal,  though  unsought,  attends  thy  quiU, 

And  does  thy  northern  dedications  fill. 

Nor  let  false  friends  seduce  thy  mind  to  fame. 

By  arrogating  Jonson's  hostile  name. 

Let  Father  Flecknoe  fire  thy  mind  with  praise. 

And  uncle  Ogleby  thy  envy  raise. 

Thou  art  my  blood,  where  Jonson  has  no  part : 

"What  share  have  we  in  nature,  or  in  art  1 

Where  did  his  wit  on  learning  fix  a  brand. 

And  rail  at  arts  he  did  not  understand  ? 

Where  made  he  love  in  prince  Nicander's  vein. 

Or  swept  the  dust  in  Psyche's  humble  strain  1 

Where  sold  he  bargains,  "  whip-stitch,  kiss  my  arse,'* 

Promised  a  play,  and  dwindled  to  a  farce  1 

When  did  his  muse  from  Fletcher  scenes  purloin, 

As  thou  whole  Etherege  dost  transfuse  to  thine  ] 

But  so  transfused,  as  dil  and  waters  flow, 

His  always  floats  above,  thine  sinks  below. 

This  is  thy  province,  this  thy  wondrous  way, 

New  humours  to  invent  for  each  new  play ; 

This  is  that  boasted  bias  of  thy  mind. 

By  which  one  way  to  dulness  'tis  inclined  : 

Which  makes  thy  writings  lean  on  one  side  still. 

And,  in  aU  changes,  that  way  bends  thy  will 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIB.  155 

Nor  let  thy  mountain-belly  make  pretence 
Of  likeness  ;  thine  's  a  tympany  of  sense. 
A  tun  of  man  in  thy  large  bulk  is  writ,     \ 
But  sure  thou'rt  but  a  kilderkin  of  wit.     / 
Like  mine,  thy  gentle  numbers  feebly  creep ; 
Thy  tragic  muse  gives  smiles,  thy  comic  sleep. 
With  whate'er  gaU  thou  sett'st  thyself  to  write, 
Thy  inoffensive  satires  never  bite. 
In  thy  felonious  art  though  venom  lies, 
It  does  but  touch  thy  Irish  pen,  and  dies. 
Thy  genius  calls  thee  not  to  purchase  fame 
In  keen  Iambics,  but  mild  Anagram. 
JLeave  writing  plays,  and  choose  for  thy.  command, 
Some  peaceful  j^rovince  in  Acrostic  land. 
There  thou  may'st  wings  display  and  altars  raise, 
And  torture  one  poor  word  ten  thousand  ways*- 
t)r,  if  thou  would  st  thy  different  talents  suit, 
Set  thy  own  songs,  and  sing  them  to  thy  lute." 

He  said  ;  but  his  last  words  were  scarcely  heard : 
For  Bruce  and  Longvil  had  a  trap  prepared!. 
And  down  they  sent  the  yet  declaiming  bard. 
Sinking  he  left  his  drugget  robe  behind, 
Borne  upwards  by  a  subterranean  wind. 
The  mantle  fell  to  the  young  prophet's  part. 
With  double  portion  of  his  father's  art. 


THEENODIA  AUGUSTALIS : 

A  FUNERAL  PINDARIC  POEM. 
SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF   KINQ  CHARLES  IL 

Thus  long  my  grief  has  kept  me  dumb : 
Sure  there  's  a  lethargy  in  mighty  woe. 
Tears  stand  congeal'd,  and  cannot  flow ; 

And  the  sad  soul  retires  into  her  inmost  room : 

Tears,  for  a  stroke  foreseen,  afford  rehef ; 
But,  unprovided  for  a  sudden  blow, 
Like  Niobe  we  marble  grow  ; 
And  petrify  with  grief. 

Our  British  heaven  was  all  serene, 
No  threatening  cloud  was  nigh. 
Not  the  least  wrinkle  to  deform  the  sky; 
We  lived  as  unconcern'd  and  happily 

As  the  first  age  in  nature's  golden  scene ; 


166  THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 

Supine  amidst  our  flowing  store, 
We  slept  securely,  and  we  dreamt  of  more  : 
When  suddenly  the  thunder-clap  was  heard, 
It  took  us  unprepared  and  out  of  guard. 
Already  lost  before  we  feard. 
The  amazing  news  of  Charles  at  once  were  spread, 
At  once  the  general  voice  declared, 
"  Our  gracious  prince  was  dead." 
No  sickness  known  before,  no  slow  disease, 
To  soften  grief  by  just  degrees : 
But  like  an  hurricane  on  Indian  seas, 
The  tempest  rose ; 
An  unexpected  burst  of  woes  : 
With  scarce  a  breathing  space  betwixt. 
This  now  becalm'd,  and  perishing  the  next. 
As  if  great  Atlas  from  his  height 
Should  sink  beneath  his  heavenly  weight, 
And  with  a  mighty  flaw,  the  flaming  wall 

(As  once  it  shall,) 
Should  gape  immense,  and  rushing  down,  overwhelm  tliis 

nether  ball ; 
So  swift  and  so  surprising  was  our  fear : 
Out  Atlas  fell  indeed  ;  but  Hercules  was  near. 

His  pious  brother,  sure  the  best 

Who  ever  bore  that  name. 
Was  newly  risen  from  his  rest, 

And,  with  a  fervent  flame, 
His  usual  morning  vows  had  just  addressed 

For  his  dear  sovereign's  health  ; 
And  hoped  to  have  them  heard, 
In  long  increase  of  years, 

In  honour,  fame,  and  wealth : 

Guiltless  of  greatness  thus  he  always  pray'd, 

Nor  knew  nor  wish'd  those  vows  he  made 

On  his  own  head  should  be  repaid. 
Soon  as  the  ill-omen'd  rumour  reach'd  his  ear, 

(111  news  is  wing'd  with  fate,  and  flies  apace,) 

Who  can  describe  the  amazement  of  his  face  ! 
Horror  in  all  his  pomp  was  there, 
Mute  and  magnificent  without  a  tear  : 
And  then  the  hero  first  was  seen  to  fear. 
Half  unarray'd  he  ran  to  his  relief. 
So  hasty  and  so  artless  was  his  grief : 


THRENODIA  AUQUSTALIS.  157 

Approacliing  greatness  met  him  with  her  charms 

Of  power  and  future  state  ; 

But  look'd  so  ghastly  in  a  brother's  fate, 

He  shook  her  from  his  arms. 
Arrived  within  the  mournful  room,  he  saw 

A  wild  distraction,  void  of  awe. 
And  arbitrary  grief,  unbounded  by  a  law. 

God's  image,  God's  anointed,  lay  v 

Without  motion,  pulse,  or  breath, 

A  senseless  lump  of  sacred  clay. 
An  image,  now,  of  death. 
Amidst  his  sad  attendants'  groans  and  cries, 

The  lines  of  that  adored  forgiving  face, 

Distorted  from  their  native  grace ; 
An  iron  slumber  sat  on  his  majestic  eyes. 
The  pious  duke — Forbear,  audacious  muse, 
No  terms  thy  feeble  art  can  use 
Are  able  to  adorn  so  vast  a  woe : 
The  grief  of  all  the  rest  like  subject-grief  did  show, 
His  like  a  sovereign  did  transcend ; 
No  wife,  no  brother,  such  a  grief  could  know. 
Nor  any  name,  but  friend. 

0  wondrous  changes  of  a  fatal  scene. 

Still  varying  to  the  last ! 

Heaven,  though  its  hard  decree  was  past, 
Seem'd  pointing  to  a  gracious  turn  again : 

And  Death  s  uphfted  arm  arrested  in  its  haste. 

Heaven  half  repented  of  the  doom, 
And  almost  grieved  it  had  foreseen. 

What  by  foresight  it  will'd  eternally  to  come. 
Mercy  above  did  hourly  plead 

For  her  resemblance  here  below ; 
And  mild  forgiveness  intercede 

To  stop  the  coming  blow. 
New  miracles  approach'd  the  ethereal  throne, 
Such  as  his  wondrous  life  had  often  lately  known, 
And  urged  that  still  they  might  be  shown. 

On  earth  his  pious  brother  prav'd  and  vow'd. 
Renouncing  greatness  at  so  dear  a  rate, 

Himself  defending  what  he  could, 
From  all  the  glories  of  his  future  fate. 

With  him  the  innumerable  crowd 
Of  armed  prayers 


158  THRENODIA  AUQUSTALIS. 

Knocked  at  the  gates  of  heaven,  and  knock' d  aloud; 

The  first  well-meaning  rude  petitioners. 
All  for  his  Ufe  assail  d  the  throne, 
All  would  have  bribed  the  skies  by  offering  up  their 

own. 
So  great  a  throng  not  heaven  itself  could  bar ; 
'Twas  almost  borne  by  force  as  in  the  giants'  war. 
The  prayers,  at  least,  for  his  reprieve  were  heard ; 
His  death,  like  Hezekiah's,  was  deferred : 

Against  the  sun  the  shadow  went ; 

Five  days,  those  five  degrees,  were  lent 

To  form  our  patience  and  prepare  the  event. 
The  second  causes  took  the  swift  command, 
The  medicinal  head,  the  ready  hand. 
All  eager  to  perform  their  part ; 
All  but  eternal  doom  was  conquer'd  by  their  art : 
Once  more  the  fleeting  soul  came  back 

To  inspire  the  mortal  frame ; 
And  in  the  body  took  a  doubtful  stand, 

Doubtful  and  hovering  like  expiring  flame. 
That  mounts  and  falls  by  turns,  and  trembles  o'er  tke 
brand. 

The  joyful  short-lived  news  soon  spread  around, 

Took  the  same  train,  the  same  impetuous  bound : 

The  drooping  town  in  smiles  again  was  dress'd, 

Gladness  in  every  face  express'd. 

Their  eyes  before  their  tongues  confess'd. 

Men  met  each  other  with  erected  look. 

The  steps  were  higher  that  they  took  ; 

Friends  to  congratulate  their  friends  made  haste, 

And  long  inveterate  foes  saluted  as  they  pass'd  : 

Above  the  rest  heroic  James  appear'd 

Exalted  more  because  he  more  had  fear'd  : 

His  manly  heart,  whose  noble  pride 
Was  still  above 
Dissembled  hate  or  varnish'd  love,  • 

Its  more  than  common  transport  could  not  hide  ; 

But  like  an  eagre  rode  in  triumph  o'er  the  tide. 
Tlius  in  alternate  course. 

The  tyrant  passions,  hope  and  fear, 

Did  in  extremes  appear, 
.  And  flash'd  upon  the  soul  with  equal  force. 

Thus,  at  half  ebb,  a  roUing  sea 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS.  159 

Returns  and  wins  upon  the  shore ; 
The  watery  herd,  affrighted  at  the  roar, 

Rest  on  their  fins  awhile,  and  stay, 

Then  backward  take  their  wondering  way : 

The  prophet  wonders  mor.e  than  they, 
At  prodigies  but  rarely  seen  before, 
And  cries,  a  king  must^  fall,  or  kingdoms  change  their 
sway. 

Such  were  our  counter-tides  at  land,  and  so 

Presaging  of  the  fatal  blow. 

In  their  prodigious  ebb  and  flow. 
The  royal  soul,  that,  like  the  labouring  moon, 
By  charms  of  art  was  hurried  down. 
Forced  with  regret  to  leave  her  native  sphere, 
Came  but  awhile  on  liking  here  : 

Soon  weary  of  the  painful  strife, 

And  made  but  faint  essays  of  hfe ; 
An  evening  Hght 
Soon  shut  in  night ; 
A  strong  distemper,  and  a  weak  relief, 
Short  intervals  of  joy,  and  long  returns  of  grief. 


The  sons  of  art  all  medicines  tried, 

And  every  noble  remedy  appHed ; 
With  emulation  each  essay'd 
His  utmost  skill,  nay  more,  they  pray'd : 
Never  was  losing  game  with  better  conduct  play'd. 
Death  never  won  a  stake  with  greater  toil, 
Nor  e'er  was  fate  so  near  a  foil : 
But  like  a  fortress  on  a  rock. 

The  impregnable  disease  their  vain  attempts  did  mock  ; 
They  mined  it  near,  they  batter'd  from  afar 
With  all  the  cannon  of  the  medicinal  war ; 
No  gentle  means  could  be  essay'd, 
'Twas  beyond  parley  when  the  siege  was  laid : 

The  extremest  ways  they  first  ordain, 

Prescribing  such  intolerable  pain. 

As  none  but  Csesar  could  sustain : 
Undaimted  Csesar  underwent 
rhe  mahce  of  their  art,  nor  bent 
Beneath  whate'er  their  pious  rigour  could  invent : 

In  five  such  days  he  sufter'd  more 

Thau  any  suffer'd  in  his  reign  before ; 


160  THREXODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 

More,  infinitely  more,  than  he, 

Against  the  worst  of  rebels,  could  decree, 

A  traitor,  or  twice-pardon'd  enemy. 

Now  art  was  tired  without  success. 

No  racks  could  make  the  stubborn  malady  confess. 

The  vain  insurancera  of  life. 
And  he  who  most  perform'd  and  jDromised  less. 

Even  Short  himself  forsook  the  unequal  strife. 
Death  and  despair  w^as  in  their  looks. 
No  longer  they  consult  their  memories  or  books  ; 
Like  helpless  friends,  who  view  from  shore 
The  labouring  ship,  and  hear  the  tempest  roar ; 

So  stood  they  with  their  arms  across  ; 
Not  to  assist,  but  to  deplore 

The  inevitable  loss. 

Death  was  denounced  ;  that  frightful  sound, 
"Which  even  the  best  can  hardly  bear, 
He  took  the  summons  void  of  fear ; 
And,  unconcernedly,  cast  his  eyes  around  ; 

As  if  to  find  and  dare  the  grisly  challenger. 
What  death  could  do  he  lately  tried. 
When  in  four  days  he  more  than  died. 

The  same  assurance  all  his  words  did  grace ; 
The  same  majestic  mildness  held  its  place  : 
Nor  lost  the  monarch  in  his  dying  face. 
Intrepid,  pious,  merciful,  and  brave. 
He  look'd  as  when  he  conquer'd  and  forgave. 

As  if  some  angel  had  been  sent 
To  lengthen  out  his  government, 
And  to  foretel  as  many  years  again, 
As  he  had  numbered  in  his  happy  reign, 
So  cheerfully  he  took  the  doom 

Of  his  departing  breath  ; 

Nor  shrunk  nor  stept  aside  for  death ;    . 
But  with  unalter'd  pace  kept  on  ; 
Providing  for  events  to  come, 
When  he  resigned  the  throne. 

Still  he  maintained  his  kingly  state ; 

And  grew  familiar  with  his  fate. 
Blind,  good,  and  gracious,  to  the  last, 
On  all  he  loved  before  his  dying  beams  he  cast: 

Oh,  truly  good,  and  truly  great. 
For  glorious  as  he  rose,  benignly  so  he  set  I 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS.  161 

All  that  on  earth  he  held  most  dear. 
He  recommended  to  his  care, 

To  whom  both  Heaven 

The  right  had  given, 
And  his  own  love  bequeath'd  supreme  command : 
He  took  and  press'd  that  ever-loyal  hand, 
"Which  could  in  peace  secure  his  reign, 
Which  could  in  wars  his  power  maintain. 
That  hand  on  which  no  plighted  vows  were  ever  vain. 

Well  for  so  great  a  trust  he  chose 
A  prince  who  never  disobey'd : 
Not  when  the  most  severe  commands  were  laid  ; 
Nor  want,  nor  exile  with  his  duty  weighed  : 
A  prince  on  whom,  if  Heaven  its  eyes  could  close, 
The  welfare  of  the  world  it  safely  might  repose. 

That  king  who  lived  to  God's  own  heart, 
Yet  less  serenely  died  than  he  : 
Charles  left  behind  no  harsh  decree 
For  schoolmen  with  laborious  art 

To  salve  from  cruelty  : 
Those,  for  whom  love  could  no  excuses  frame, 
He  graciously  forgot  to  name. 
Thus  far  my  muse,  though  rudely,  has  design'd 
Some  faint  resemblance  of  his  godlike  mind : 
But  neither  pen  nor  pencil  can  express 
The  parting  brothers*  tenderness  : 
Though  that 's  a  term  too  mean  and  low  ; 
The  blest  above  a  kinder  word  may  know  : 

But  what  they  did,  and  what  they  said, 
The  monarch  who  triumphant  went, 

The  miUtant  who  staid, 
Like  painters  when  their  heightening  arts  are  spent 
I  cast  into  a  shade. 
That  all-forgiving  king. 
The  type  of  Him  above. 

That  inexhausted  spring 
Of  clemency  and  love  ; 
Himself  to  his  next  self  accused. 
And  ask'd  that  pardon  which  he  ne'er  refused : 
For  faults  not  his,  for  guil%  and  crimes 
Of  godless  men,  and  of  rebelhous  times : 
For  an  hard  exile,  kindly  meant. 
When  his  imgrateful  country  sent 
16 


162  THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 

Their  best  Camillus  into  banishment : 
And  forced  their  sovereign's  act,  they  could  not  his  consent. 
Oh,  how  much  rather  had  that  injured  chief 
Repeated  all  his  sufferings  past ! 
Than  hear  a  pardon  begg'd  at  last, 
Which  given  could  give  the  dying  no  relief : 
He  bent,  he  sunk  beneath  his  grief : 
His  daimtless  heart  would  fain  have  held 
From  weeping,  but  his  eyes  rebell'd. 
Perhaps  the  godlike  hero  in  his  breast 
Bisdain'd,  or  was  ashamed,  to  show 
So  weak,  so  womanish  a  woe, 
Which   yet  the  brother  and  the  friend  so  plenteously 
confess'd. 

Amidst  that  silent  shower,  the  royal  mind 

An  easy  passage  found. 
And  left  its  sacred  earth  behind  : 

Nor  murmuring  groan  express'd,  nor  labouring  soimd, 
Nor  any  least  tumultuous  breath  ; 
Calm  was  his  Hfe,  and  quiet  was  his  death. 

Soft  as  those  gentle  whispers  were, 

In  which  the  Almighty  did  appear  ; 

By  the  stiU  voice  the  prophet  knew  him  there. 
That  peace  which  made  thy  prosperous  reign  to  shine, 
That  peace  thou  leavest  to  thy  imperial  hne, 
That  peace,  oh  happy  shade,  be  ever  thine ! 

For  aU  those  joys  thy  restoration  brought, 
For  all  the  miracles  it  wrought. 

For  all  the  healing  balm  thy  mercy  pour'd 
Into  the  nation's  bleeding  wound, 
And  care  that  after  kept  it  sound, 

For  numerous  blessings  yearly  shower'd. 
And  property  with  plenty  crown'd ; 
For  freedom,  still  maintain'd  alive. 
Freedom  !  which  in  no  other  land  will  thrive. 
Freedom  !  an  English  subject's  sole  prerogative, 

Without  whose  charms  even  peace  would  be 

But  a  duU  quiet  slavery : 
For  these  and  more,  accept  our  pious  praise ; 

'Tis  all  the  subsidy 
The  present  age  can  raise, 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS.  163 

The  rest  is  charged  on  late  posterity. 
Posterity  is  charged  the  more, 
Because  the  large  abounding  store 
To  them  and  to  their  heirs  is  stiU  entail'd  by  thee* 

Succession,  of  a  long  descent, 
Which  chastely  in  the  channels  ran. 
And  from  our  demi-gods  began, 

Equal  almost  to  time  in  its  extent ; 
Through  hazards  numberless  and  great, 
Thou  hast  derived  this  mighty  blessing  down. 
And  fix'd  the  fairest  gem  that  decks  the  imperial  crown. 
Not  faction,  when  it  shook  thy  regal  seat, 

Not  senates,  insolently  loud, 

Those  echoes  of  a  thoughtless  crowd. 
Not  foreign  or  domestic  treachery, 
Could  warp  thy  soul  to  their  unjust  decree. 
So  much  thy  foes  thy  manly  mind  mistook, 
Who  judged  it  by  the  mildness  of  thy  look : 
Like  a  well-temper'd  sword  it  bent  at  will ; 
But  kept  the  native  toughness  of  the  steeL 

Be  true,  0  Clio,  to  thy  hero's  name  ! 

But  draw  him  strictly  so. 

That  aU  who  view  the  piece  may  know ; 
He  needs  no  trappings  of  fictitious  fame  : 
The  load 's  too  weighty :  thou  may'st  choose 
Some  parts  of  praise,  and  some  refuse  : 
Write,  that  his  annals  may  be  thought  more  lavish  than 
the  muse. 

In  scanty  truth  thou  hast  confined 

The  virtues  of  a  royal  mind. 

Forgiving,  bounteous,  humble,  just,  and  kind : 
His  conversation,  wit,  and  parts. 
His  knowledge  in  the  noblest  useful  arts. 
Were  such,  dead  authors  could  not  give  ; 
But  habitudes  of  those  who  live  ; 
Who,  lighting  him,  did  greater  lights  receive : 
He  drain'd  from  all,  and  all  they  knew  ; 
His  apprehension  quick,  his  judgment  true : 
That  the  most  learn'd,  with  shame,  confess 
His  knowledge  more,  his  reading  only  less. 

Amidst  the  peaceful  triumphs  of  his  reign, 

What  wonder  if  the  kindly  beams  he  shed 
Bevived  the  drooping  arts  again, 


164  THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIS. 

If  Science  raised  her  head, 

And  soft  Humanity  that  from  rebellion  fled : 
Our  isle,  indeed,  too  fruitful  was  before  ; 

But  all  uncultivated  lay 

Out  of  the  solar  walk  and  heaven's  high  way ; 
With  rank  Genfiva  weeds  run  o'er, 
And  cockle,  at  the  best,  amidst  the  corn  it  bore  ; 
The  royal  husbandman  appear'd, 

And  plough' d,  and  sow'd,  and  till'd  ; 
The  thorns  he  rooted  out,  the  rubbish  clear'd, 

And  bless'd  the  obedient  field. 
When  straight  a  double  harvest  rose  ; 
Such  as  the  swarthy  Indian  mows  ; 
Or  happier  climates  near  the  line, 
Or  paradise,  manured  and  drest  by  hands  divine. 

As  when  the  new-born  phoenix  takes  his  way, 

His  rich  paternal  regions  to  survey, 

Of  airy  choristers  a  numerous  train 

Attend  his  wondrous  progress  o'er  the  plain ; 

So,  rising  from  his  father's  urn, 

So  glorious  did  our  Charles  return. 

The  officious  Muses  came  along, 

A  gay  harmonious  choir,  like  angels,  ever  young  : 

The  Muse  that  mourns  him  now  his  happy  triumph  sung- 

Even  they  could  thrive  in  his  auspicious  reign ; 

And  such  a  plenteous  crop  they  bore 
Of  purest  and  well-winnow'd  grain, 

As  Britain  never  knew  before. 
Though  little  was  their  hire,  and  light  their  gain. 
Yet  somewhat  to  their  share  he  threw  ; 
Fed  from  his  hand  they  sung  and  flew, 
Like  birds  of  paradise  that  lived  on  morning  dew. 
Oh,  never  let  their  lays  his  name  forget ! 
The  pension  of  a  prince's  praise  is  great. 
Live  then,  thou  great  encourager  of  arts, 
Live  ever  in  our  thankful  hearts  ; 
Live  blest  above,  almost  invoked  below  ; 
Live,  and  receive  this  pious  vow. 
Our  patron  once,  our  guardian  angel  now. 
Thou  Fabius  of  a  sinking  state. 
Who  didst  by  wise  delays,  divert  our  fate. 

When  faction,  like  a  tempest  rose, 
In  death's  most  hideous  form. 


( 


THRENODIA  AUGUSTALIB.  166 

Then  art  to  rage  thou  didst  oppose, 
To  weather  out  the  storm  : 
Not  quitting  thy  supreme  command, 
Thou  held'st  the  rudder  with  a  steady  hand, 
Till  safely  on  the  shore  the  bark  did  land : 
The  bark  that  all  our  blessings  brought. 
Charged  with  thyself  and  James,  a  doubly  royal  fraught. 

Oh  frail  estate  of  human  things. 

And  slippery  hopes  below ! 

Now  to  our  cost  your  emptiness  we  know ; 
For  'tis  a  lesson  dearly  bought, 
Assurance  here  is  never  to  be  sought. 
The  best,  and  best  beloved  of  kings, 
And  best  deserving  to  be  so, 
When  scarce  he  had  escaped  the  fatal  blow 

Of  faction  and  conspiracy, 
Death  did  his  promised  hopes  destroy  : 
He  toil'd,  he  gain'd,  but  lived  not  to  enjoy. 
What  mists  of  Providence  are  these 

Through  which  we  cannot  see  ! 

So  saints,  by  supernatural  power  set  free, 
Are  left  at  last  in  martyrdom  to  die ; 
Such  is  the  end  of  oft-repeated  miracles. 
Forgive  me.  Heaven,  that  impious  thought ; 
'Twas  grief  for  Charles,  to  madness  wrought, 

That  question'd  thy  supreme  decree  ! 
Thou  didst  his  gracious  reign  prolong. 
Even  in  thy  saints'  and  angels'  wrong. 

His  fellow-citizens  of  immortality  : 
For  twelve  long  years  of  exile  borne. 
Twice  twelve  we  number'd  since  his  blest  return : 

So  strictly  wert  thou  just  to  pay, 

Even  to  the  driblet  of  a  day. 
Yet  still  we  murmur  and  complain 
The  quails  and  manna  should  no  longer  rain  ; 
Those  miracles  'twas  needless  to  renew  ; 
The  chosen  flock  has  now  the  promised  land  in  ^iew. 

A  warhke  prince  ascends  the  regal  state, 
A  prince  long  exercised  by  fate  : 
Long  may  he  keep,  though  he  obtains  it  late. 
Heroes  in  Heaven's  peculiar  mould  are  cast. 
They  and  their  poets  are  not  form'd  in  haste  ; 
Man  was  the  first  in  God's  design,  and  man  was  made  the  last, 
16* 


166  THRENODIA  AUGUSTALI8. 

False  heroes,  made  by  flattery  so, 
Heaven  can  strike  out,  like  sparkles,  at  a  blow  ; 
But  ere  a  prince  is  to  perfection  brought. 
He  costs  Omnipotence  a  second  thought. 
With  toil  and  sweat, 

"With  hardening  cold,  and  forming  heat, 

The  Cyclops  did  their  strokes  repeat. 
Before  the  impenetrable  shield  was  wrought. 
It  looks  as  if  the  Maker  would  not  own 

The  noble  work  for  his, 

Before  'twas  tried  and  found  a  masterpiece. 

View  then  a  monarch  ripened  for  a  throne. 

Alcides  thus  his  race  began. 

O'er  infancy  he  swiftly  ran  ; 

The  future  god  at  first  was  more  than  man : 
Dangers  and  toils,  and  Juno's  hate, 
Even  o'er  his  cradle  lay  in  wait ; 
And  there  he  grappled  first  with  fate  : 
In  his  young  hands  the  hissing  snakes  he  press'd, 
So  early  was  the  deity  confess'd ; 

Thus  by  degrees  he  rose 
To  Jove's  imperial  seat ; 
Thus  difficulties  prove  a  soul  legitimately  great. 
Like  his,  our  hero's  infancy  was  tried  :  , 

Betimes  the  furies  did  their  snakes  provide ; 

And  to  his  infant  arms  oppq^e 

His  father's  rebels,  and  his  brother's  foes  ; 

The  more  opprest,  the  higher  still  he  rose  ; 
Those  were  the  preludes  of  his  fate. 
That  form'd  his  manhood,  to  subdue 
The  hydra  of  a  many-headed  hissing  crew. 

As  after  Numa's  peaceful  reign 
The  martial  Ancus  did  the  sceptre  wield, 

Furbish' d  the  rusty  sword  again. 
Resumed  the  long-forgotten  shield. 
And  led  the  Latins  'o  the  dusty  field  ; 
So  James  the  drowsy  genius  wakes 

Of  Britain,  long  entranced  in  charms, 

Bestive  and  slumbering  on  its  arms  : 
'Tis  roused,  and  with  a  new-strung  nerve  the  spear  already 

shakes. 
No  neighing  of  the  warrior  steeds, 
No  drum,  or  louder  trumpet,  needs 


THRENODU  AUGUSTALIS.  167 

To  inspire  the  coward,  warm  the  cold  ; 

His  voice,  his  sole  appearance,  makes  them  bold. 

Gaul  and  Batavia  dread  the  impending  blow  ; 

Too  well  the  vigour  of  that  arm  they  know  ; 

They  lick  the  dust,  and  crouch  beneath  their  fatal  foe. 

Long  may  they  fear  this  awfal  prince, 

And  not  provoke  his  lingering  sword ; 
Peace  is  their  only  sure  defence, 

Their  best  security  his  word. 
In  all  the  changes  of  his  doubtful  state, 
His  truth,  like  Heaven's,  was  kept  inviolate. 
For  him  to  promise  is  to  make  it  fate.  « 

His  valour  can  triumph  o'er  land  and  main  ; 
With  broken  oaths  his  fame  he  will  not  stain  ; 
With  conquest  basely  bought,  and  with  inglorious  gain. 

For  once,  0  Heaven,  unfold  thy  adamantine  book  ; 

And  let  his  wondering  senate  see. 

If  not  thy  firm  immutable  decree. 

At  least  the  second  page  of  strong  contingency  ; 

Such  as  consists  with  wills  originally  free  : 

Let  them  with  glad  amazement  look 

On  what  their  happiness  may  be  : 
Let  them  not  still  be  obstinately  blind, 
Still  to  divert  the  good  thou  hast  design'd, 

Or  with  malignant  penury. 
To  starve  the  royal  virtues  of  his  mind. 
Faith  is  a  Christian's  and  a  subject's  test ; 
Oh,  give  them  to  believe,  and  they  are  surely  blest. 
They  do ;  and  with  a  distant  view  I  see 
The  amended  vows  of  English  loyalty. 
And  all  beyond  that  object,  there  appears 

The  long  retinue  of  a  prosperous  reign, 
A  series  of  successful  years, 

In  orderly  array,  a  martial,  manly  train. 
Behold  ev'n  the  remoter  shores, 

A  conquering  navy  proudly  spread ; 
The  British  cannon  formidably  roars ; 

While  starting  from  his  oozy  bed. 

The  asserted  Ocean  rears  his  reverend  head, 
To  view  and  recognize  his  ancient  lord  again ; 

And  with  a  willing  hand  restores 
The  fasces  of  the  main. 


168 
THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHEB. 

A  POEM.      IN  THREE  PARTS. 

PREFACE. 

The  nation  is  in  too  high  a  ferment  for  me  to  expect  either 
fair  war,  or  even  so  much  as  fair  quarter,  from  a  reader  of  the 
opposite  party.  All  men  are  engaged  either  on  this  side  or  that ; 
and  though  Conscience  is  the  common  Word^  which  is  given  by 
both,  yet  if  a  writer  fall  among  enemies,  and  cannot  give  the 
marks  of  theii'  conscience,  he  is  knocked  down  before  the  reasons 
of  his  own  are  heard.  A  preface,  therefore,  which  is  but  a 
bespeaking  of  favour,  is  altogether  useless.  ^.Vhat  I  desire  the 
reader  should  know  concerning  me,  he  will  find  in  the  body  of 
the  poem,  if  he  have  but  the  patience  to  peruse  it.  Only  this 
advertisement  let  him  take  beforehand,  which  relates  to  the 
merits  of  the  cause.  No  general  characters  of  parties  (call  them 
either  Sects  or  Churches)  can  be  so  fully  and  exactly  drawn,  as 
to  comprehend  all  the  several  members  of  them ;  at  least  all  such 
as  are  received  under  that  dcDomination.  For  example  :  there 
are  some  of  the  Church  by  law  established  who  envy  not  liberty 
of  conscience  to  Dissenters  ;  as  being  well  satisfied  that,  accord- 
ing to  their  own  principles,  they  ought  not  to  persecute  them. 
Yet  these,  by  reason  of  their  fewness,  I  could  not  distinguish 
from  the  numbers  of  the  rest,  with  whom  they  are  embodied  in 
one  common  name.  On  the  other  side,  there  are  many  of  our 
Sects,  and  more  indeed  than  I  could  reasonably  have  hoped,  who 
have  withdrawn  themselves  from  the  communion  of  the  Panther, 
and  embraced  this  gracious  indulgence  of  his  Majesty  in  point  of 
toleration.  But  neither  to  the  one  nor  the  other  of  these  is  this 
satire  any  way  intended  :  it  is  aimed  only  at  the  refractory  and 
disobedient  on  either  side.  For  those  who  are  come  over  to  the 
royal  party  are  consequently  supposed  to  be  out  of  gun-shot. 
Our  physicians  have  observed,  that,  in  process  of  time,  some 
diseases  have  abated  of  their  viridence,  and  have  in  a  manner 
worn  out  their  malignity,  so  as  to  be  no  longer  mortal ;  and  why 
may  not  I  suppose  the  same  concerning  some  of  those  who  have 
formerly  been  enemies  to  Kingly  Government,  as  well  as  Catholic 
Religion?  I  hope  they  have  now  another  notion  of  both,  as 
having  found,  by  comfortable  experience,  that  the  doctrine  of 
persecution  is  far  from  being  an  article  of  our  faith. 

It  is  not  for  any  private  man  to  censure  the  proceedings  of  a 
foreign  prince  ;  but  without  suspicion  of  flattery,  I  may  praise 
our  own,  who  has  taken  contrary  measures,  and  those  more 
suitable  to  the  spirit  of  Christianity.  Some  of  the  Dissenters, 
in   their  addresses  to  his   Majesty,  have  said,  "  That  he  haa 


THE  HIND   AND  THE  PANTHER.  169 

restored  God  to  his  empire  over  conscience."  I  confess  I  dare 
not  stretch  the  figure  to  so  great  a  boldness ;  but  I  may  safely 
say,  that  conscience  is  the  royalty  and  prerogative  of  every 
private  man.  He  is  absolute  in  his  own  breast,  and  accountable 
to  no  earthly  power  for  that  which  passes  only  betwixt  God  and 
him.  Those  who  are  driven  into  the  fold  are,  generally  speaking, 
rather  made  hypocrites  than  converts. 

This  indulgence  being  granted  to  all  the  sects,  it  ought  in 
reason  to  be  expected  that  they  should  both  receive  it,  and 
receive  it  thankfully.  For,  at  this  time  of  day,  to  refuse  the 
benefit,  and  adhere  to  those  whom  they  have  esteemed  their 
persecutors,  what  is  it  else  but  publicly  to  own  that  they  suf- 
fered not  before  for  conscience  sake,  but  only  out  of  pride  and 
obstinacy,  to  separate  from  a  Church  for  those  impositions  which 
they  now  judge  may  be  lawfully  obeyed  ?  After  they  have  so 
long  contended  for  their  classical  ordination  (not  to  speak  of 
rites  and  ceremonies),  will  they  at  length  submit  to  an  episcopal  ? 
If  they  can  go  so  far,  out  of  complaisance  to  their  old  enemies, 
methinks  a  little  reason  should  persuade  them  to  take  another 
step,  and  see  whither  that  would  lead  them. 

Of  the  receiving  this  toleration  thankfully  I  shall  say  no  more, 
than  that  they  ought,  and  I  doubt  not,  they  will,  consider  from 
what  hands  they  received  it.  It  is  not  from  a  Cyrus,  a  heathen 
prince,  and  a  foreigner,  but  from  a  Christian  king,  their  native 
sovereign,  who  expects  a  return  in  specie  from  them,  that  the 
kindness  which  he  has  graciously  shown  them  may  be  retaliated 
on  those  of  his  own  persuasion. 

As  for  the  poem  in  general,  I  will  only  thus  far  satisfy  the 
reader,  that  it  was  neither  imposed  on  me,  nor  so  much  as  the 
subject  given  me  by  any  man.  It  was  written  during  the  last 
winter,  and  the  beginning  of  this  spring,  though  with  long 
interruptions  of  ill-health  and  other  hindrances.  About  a 
fortnight  before  I  had  finished  it,  his  Majesty's  declaration  for 
liberty  of  conscience  came  abroad;  which,  if  I  had  so  soon 
expected,  I  might  have  spared  myself  the  labour  of  writing 
many  things  which  are  contained  in  the  third  part  of  it.  But  I 
was  always  in  some  hope,  that  the  Church  of  England  might 
have  been  persuaded  to  have  taken  off  the  Penal  Laws  and  the 
Test,  which  was  one  design  of  the  poem  when  I  proposed  to. 
myself  the  writing  of  it. 

It  is  evident  that  some  part  of  it  was  only  occasional,  and  not 
first  intended :  I  mean  that  defence  of  myself,  to  which  every 
honest  man  is  bound,  when  he  is  injuriously  attacked  in  print ; 
and  I  refer  myself  to  the  judgment  of  those  who  have  read  the 
Answer  to  the  Defence  of  the  late  King's  papers  and  that  of  the 
Duchess  (in  which  last  I  was  concerned)  how  charitably  I  have 
been  represented  there.  I  am  now  informed  both  of  the  author 
and  superviaers  of  his  pamphlet,  and  will  reply  whon  I  think 


170  THE  hind'  and  the  PANTHER. 

he  can  affront  me :  for  I  am  of  Socrates'  opinion,  that  all 
creatures  cannot.  In  the  mean  time  let  him  consider  whether 
he  deserved  not  a  more  severe  reprehension  than  I  gave  him 
formerly,  for  using  so  little  respect  to  the  memory  of  those 
whom  he  pretended  to  answer ;  and  at  his  leisure  look  out  for 
some  original  treatise  of  Humility,  written  by  any  Protestant  in 
English  (I  believe  I  may  say  in  any  other  tongue) :  for  the 
magnified  piece  of  Duncomb  on  that  subject,  which  either  he 
must  mean  or  none,  and  with  which  another  of  his  fellows  has 
upbraided  me,  was  translated  from  the  Spanish  of  Rodriguez ; 
though  with  the  omission  of  the  seventeenth,  the  twenty -fourth, 
the  twenty-fifth,  and  the  last  chapter,  which  will  be  found  in 
comparing  of  the  books. 

He  would  have  insinuated  to  the  world  that  her  late  Highness 
died  not  a  Roman  Catholic.  He  declares  himself  to  be  now 
satisfied  to  the  contrary,  in  which  he  has  given  up  the  cause ; 
for  matter  of  fact  was  the  principal  debate  betwixt  us.  In  the 
mean  time,  he  would  dispute  the  motives  of  her  change ;  how 
preposterously,  let  all  men  judge,  when  he  seemed  to  deny  the 
subject  of  the  controversy,  the  change  itself.  And  because  I 
would  not  take  up  this  ridiculous  challenge,  he  tells  the  world 
I  cannot  argue  :  but  he  may  as  well  infer  that  a  Catholic  cannot 
fast,  because  he  will  not  take  up  the  cudgels  against  Mrs.  James, 
to  confute  the  Protestant  religion. 

I  have  but  one  word  more  to  say  concerning  the  poem  as  such, 
and  abstracting  from  the  matters,  either  religious  or  civil,  which 
are  handled  in  it.  The  first  part,  consisting  most  in  general 
characters  and  narration,  I  have  endeavoured  to  raise,  and  give 
it  the  majestic  turn  of  heroic  poesy.  The  second,  being  matter 
of  dispute,  and  chiefly  concerning  Church  Authority,  I  was 
obliged  to  make  as  plain  and  perspicuous  as  possibly  I  could ; 
yet  not  wholly  neglecting  the  numbers,  though  I  had  not 
frequent  occasions  for  the  magnificence  of  verse.  The  third, 
which  has  more  of  the  nature  of  domestic  conversation,  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  more  free  and  familiar  than  the  two  former. 

There  are  in  it  two  Episodes,  or  Fables,  which  are  interwoven 
with  the  main  design ;  so  that  they  are  properly  parts  of  it, 
though  they  are  also  distinct  stories  of  themselves.  In  both  of 
these  I  have  made  use  of  the  common-places  of  Satire,  whether 
true  or  false,  which  are  urged  by  the  members  of  the  one  Church 
against  the  other  :  at  which  I  hope  no  reader  of  either  party  will 
be  scandalized,  because  they  are  not  of  my  invention,  but  as  old, 
to  my  knowledge,  as  the  times  of  Boccace  and  Chaucer  on  the 
one  side,  and  as  those  of  the  Reformation  on  the  other. 


171 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

This  piece  is  a  defence  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  hy  wa5'  of  dialogue 
between  a  Hind,  who  represents  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  a  Panther,  who 
sustains  the  character  of  the  Church  of  England.  These  two  beasts  very 
learnedly  debate  the  principal  points  controverted  between  the  two 
Churclies,  as  transubstantiation,  infallibility,  church-authority,  &c.] 

A  MILK-WHITE  Hind,  immortal  and  unchanged, 
Fed  on  the  lawns,  and  in  the  forest  ranged ; 
Without  unspotted,  innocent  within, 
She  fear'd  no  danger,  for  she  knew  no  sin. 
Yet  had  she  oft  been  chased  with  horns  and  hoxmds, 
And  Scythian  shafts  and  many  winged  woimds 
Aim'd  at  her  heart,  was  often  forced  to  fly, 
And  doom'd  to  death  though  fated  not  to  die. 

Not  so  her  young  ;  for  their  unequal  line 
Was  hero's  make,  half  human,  half  divine. 
Their  earthly  mould  obnoxious  was  to  fate, 
The  immortal  part  assumed  immortal  state. 
Of  these  a  slaughter'd  army  lay  in  blood. 
Extended  o'er  the  Caledonian  wood, 
Their  native  walk  ;  whose  vocal  blood  arose, 
And  cried  for  pardon  on  their  perjured  foes. 
Their  fate  was  fruitful,  and  the  sanguine  seed, 
Endued  with  souls,  increased  the  sacred  b/eed. 
So  captive  Israel  multiplied  in  chains, 
A  numerous  exile,  and  enjoy 'd  her  pains. 
With  grief  and  gladness  mix'd,  the  mother  view*d 
Her  martyr'd  offspring,  and  their  race  renew'd  ; 
Their  corpse  to  perish,  but  their  kind  to  last. 
So  much  the  deathless  plant  the  dying  fruit  surpassed. 

Panting  and  pensive  now  she  ranged  alone, 
And  wander'd  in  the  kingdoms,  once  her  own. 
The  common  hunt,  though  from  their  rage  restrain'd 
By  sovereign  power,  her  company  disdain'd  ; 
Grinn'd  as  they  pass'd,  and  with  a  glaring  eye 
Gave  gloomy  signs  of  secret  enmity. 
'Tis  true  she  bounded  by,  and  tripp'd  so  light, 
They  had  not  time  to  take  a  steady  sight. 
For  truth  has  such  a  face  and  such  a  mien, 
As  to  be  loved  needs  only  to  be  seen. 

The  bloody  Bear,  an  independent  beast, 
Unlick'd  to  form,  in  groans  her  hate  express'd. 


172  THE   HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Among  the  timorous  kind  the  quaking  Hare 

Profes3'd  neutrality,  but  would  not  swear. 

Next  her  the  buffoon  Ape,  as  atheists  use, 

Mimick'd  all  sects,  and  had  his  own  to  choose  : 

Still  when  the  Lion  look'd,  his  knees  he  bent, 

And  paid  at  church  a  courtier's  compliment. 
■''  The  bristled  Baptist  Boar,  impure  as  he, 

(Bat  whiten'd  with  the  foam  of  sanctity,) 

With  fat  pollutions  tiird  the  sacred  place, 

And  mountains  levell'd  in  his  furious  race  ; 

So  first  rebellion  founded  was  in  grace. 

But  since  the  mighty  ravage,  which  he  made 

In  German  forests,  had  his  guilt  betray'd, 

AVith  broken  tusks,  and  with  a  borrow'd  name, 

He  shunn'd  the  vengeance,  and  conceal'd  the  shame ; 

So  lurk'd  in  sects  unseen.    With  greater  guile 

False  Reynard  fed  on  consecrated  spoil : 

The  graceless  beast  by  Athanasius  first 

Was  chased  from  Nice  ;  then,  by  Socinus  nursed, 

His  impious  race  their  blasphemy  renew'd, 

And  nature's  King  through  nature's  optics  view'd. 

Reversed  they  view'd  him  lessen'd  to  their  eye, 

Nor  in  an  infant  could  a  God  descry  : 

New  swarming  sects  to  this  obliquely  tend, 

Hence  they  beg|in,  and  here  they  all  will  end. 
'      What  weight  of  ancient  witness  can  prevail, 

If  private  reason  hold  the  public  scale  ? 

But,  gracious  God  !  how  well  dost  thou  provide 

For  erring  judgments  an  unerring  guide  ! 

Thy  throne  is  darkness  in  the  abyss  of  light, 

A  blaze  of  glory  that  forbids  the  sight. 

Oh,  teach  me  to  believe  thee  thus  concealed, 

And  search  no  fui-ther  than  thyself  revealed  ; 

But  her  alone  for  my  director  take. 

Whom  thou  hast  promised  never  to  forsake  ! 

My  thoughtless  youth  was  wing'd  with  vain  desires  ; 

My  manhood,  long  misled  by  wandering  fires. 

Folio w'd    false    lights ;    and,   when    their    glimpse    was 
gone. 

My  pride  struck  out  new  sparkles  of  her  own. 

Such  was  I,  such  by  nature  still  I  am  ; 

Be  thine  the  glory,  and  be  mine  the  shame. 

Good  life  be  now  my  task  :  my  doubts  are  done  : 

What  more  could  fright  my  faith,  than  three  in  one  7 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  173 

Can  I  believe  eternal  God  could  lie 

Disguised  in  mortal  mould  and  infancy  1 

That  the  great  Maker  of  the  world  could  die  ? 

And  after  that,  trust  my  imperfect  sense, 

Which  calls  in  question  his  omnipotence  ? 

Can  I  my  reason  to  my  faith  compel  ? 

And  shall  my  sight,  and  touch,  and  taste,  rebel  f 

Superior  faculties  are  set  aside  ;  * 

Shall  their  subservient  organs  be  my  guide  ? 

Then  let  the  moon  usurp  the  rule  of  day, 

And  winking  tapers  show  the  sun  his  way  ; 

For  what  my  senses  can  thenjselves  perceive, 

Ineed  no  revelation  to  beljeve. 

Can  they  who  say  the  Host  should  be  descried 

By  sense,  define  a  body  glorified  ? 

Impassable,  and  penetrating  parts  ? 

Let  them  declare  by  what  mysterious  arts 

He  shot  that  body  through  the  opposing  might 

Of  bolts  and  bars  impervious  to  the  light, 

And  stood  before  his  train  confess'd  in  open  sight. 

For  since  thus  wondrously  he  pass'd,  'tis  plain     ^ 

One  single  place  two  bodies  did  contain.  ' 

And  sure  the  same  Omnipotence  as  well 

Can  make  one  body  in  more  places  dwell. 

Let  reason  then  at  her  own  quarry  fly. 

But  how  can  finite  grasp  infinity  ? 

'Tis  urged  again,  that  faith  did  first  commence 
By  miracles,  which  are  appeals  to  sense. 
And  thence  concluded,  that  our  sense  must  be 
The  motive  still  of  credibility. 
For  latter  ages  must  on  former  wait, 
And  what  began  belief,  must  propagate. 

But  winnow  well  this  thought,  and  you  shall  find 
'Tis  light  as  chaff  that  flies  before  the  wir^d. 
Were  all  those  wonders  wrought  by  power  divine, 
As  means  or  ends  of  some  more  deep  design  ? 
Most  sure  as  means,  whose  end  was  this  alone, 
To  prove  the  Godhead  of  the  eternal  Son. 
God  thus  asserted,  man  is  to  believe 
Beyond  what  sense  and  reason  can  conceive, 
And  for  mysterious  things  of  faith  rely 
On  the  proponent.  Heaven's  authority. 
If  then  our  faith  we  for  our  guide  admit, 
Vain  is  the  ferther  search  of  human  wit, 
17 


174  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER, 

As  when  the  building  gains  a  surer  stay, 
We  take  the  unuseful  scaffolding  away. 
Reason  by  sense  no  more  can  understand  ; 
The  game  is  play'd  into  another  hand  ; 
Why  choose  we  then,  like  bilanders,  to  creep 
Along  the  coast,  and  land  in  view  to  keep, 
When  safely  we  may  launch  into  the  deep  1 
In  the  same  vessel  which  our  Saviour  bore, 
Himself  the  pilot,  let  us  leave  the  shore, 
And  with  a  better  guide  a  better  world  explore. 
Could  he  his  Godhead  veil  with  flesh  and  "blood,  \  v 

And  not  veil  these  again  to  be  our  food  ?  ^V^ 

His  grace  in  both  is  equal  in  extent ;  ^    /'' 

The  first  affords  us  Hfe,  the  second  nourishment. 
And  if  he  can,  why  all  this  frantic  pain 
To  construe  what  his  clearest  words  contain, 
And  make  a  riddle  what  he  made  so  plain  ? 
To  take  up  half  on  trust,  and  half  to  try, 
Name  it  not  faith,  but  bungling  bigotry. 
Both  knave  and  fool  the  merchant  we  may  call. 
To  pay  gBeat  sums,  and  to  compound  the  small : 
For  who  would  break  with  Heaven,  and  would  not  break 
Rest  then,  my  soul,  from  endless  anguish  freed  :      [for  all  ? 
Nor  sciences  thy  guide,  nor  sense  thy  creed. 
Faith  is  the  best  ensurer  of  thy  bliss  ; 
The  bank  above  must  fail  before  the  venture  miss. 
But  heaven  and  heaven-bom  faith  are  far  from  thee, 
Thou  first  apostate  to  divinity. 
Unkennell'd  range  in  thy  Polonian  plains  ; 
A  fiercer  foe  the  insatiate  Wolf  remains. 
Too  boastful  Britain,  please  thyself  no  more, 
That  beasts  of  prey  are  banish'd  from  thy  shore  : 
The  Bear,  the  Boar,  and  every  savage  name, 
Wild  in  effect,  though  in  appearance  tame. 
Lay  waste  thy  woods,  destroy  thy  blissful  bower, 
And,  muzzled  though  they  seem,  the  mutes  devour. 
More  haughty  than  the  rest,  the  wolfish  race 
*  Appear  with  belly  gaunt,  and  famish'd  face  ; 
Never  was  so  deform'd  a  beast  of  grace. 
His  ragged  tail  betwixt  his  legs  he  wears, 
Close  laid  for  shame  ;  but  his  rough  crest  he  rears, 
And  pricks  up  his  predestinating  ears. 
His  wild  disorder'd  walk,  his  haggard  eyes, 
Pid  all  the  bestial  citizens  surprise : 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  175 

Though  fear'd  and  hated,  yet  he  ruled  awhile, 

As  captain  or  companion  of  the  spoil. 

Full  many  a  year  his  hateful  head  had  been 

For  tribute  paid,  nor  since  in  Cambria  seen : 

The  last  of  all  the  litter  'scaped  by  chance, 

And  from  Geneva  first  infested  France. 

Some  authors  thus  his  pedigree  will  trace, 

But  others  write  him  of  an  upstart  race  ; 

Because  of  Wickliff 's  brood  no  mark  he  brings, 

But  his  innate  antipathy  to  kings. 

These  last  deduce  him  from  the  Helvetian  kind, 

Who  near  the  Leman  lake  his  consort  hned : 

That  fiery  Zuinglius  first  the  affection  bred,  • 

And  meagre  Calvin  bless'd  the  nuptial  bed. 

In  Israel  some  believe  him  whelp'd  long  since, 

When  the  proud  Sanhedrim  oppress'd  the  prince, 

Or,  since  he  will  be  Jew,  derive  him  higher, 

"VYhen  Corah  with  his  brethren  did  conspire 

From  Moses'  hand  the  sovereign  sway  to  wrest. 

And  Aaron  of  his  ephod  to  divest : 

Till  opening  earth  made  way  for  aU  to  pass, 

And  could  not  bear  the  burden  of  a  class. 

The  Fox  and  he  came  shuffled  in  the  dark. 

If  ever  they  were  stow'd  in  Noah's  ark  : 

Perhaps  not  made  ;  for  aU  their  barking  train 

The  Dog  (a  common  species)  will  contain. 

And  some  wild  curs,  who  from  their  masters  ran, 

Abhorring  the  supremacy  of  man. 

In  woods  and  caves  the  rebel-race  began. 
0  happy  pair,  how  well  have  you  increased  ! 

What  ills  in  Church  and  State  have  you  redress'd ! 

With  teeth  untried,  and  rudiments  of  claws. 

Your  first  essay  was  on  your  native  laws  : 

Those  having  torn  with  ease,  and  trampled  down, 

Your  fangs  you  fasten'd  on  the  mitred  crown. 

And  freed  from  God  and  monarchy  your  town. 

What  though  your  native  kennel  still  be  small, 
i  Bounded  betwixt  a  puddle  and  a  wall ; 
i  Yet  your  victorious  colonies  are  sent 
'  Where  the  north  ocean  girds  the  continent. 

Quicken'd  with  fire  below,  your  monsters  breed 

In  fenny  Holland,  and  in  fruitful  Tweed  : 

And,  like  the  first,  the  last  affects  to  be 

Drawn  to  the  dregs  of  a  democracy. 


176  THE  mKD  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

As,  where  in  fields  the  fairy  rounds  are  seen, 
A  rank  sour  herbage  rises  on  the  green  j 
So,  springing  where  those  midnight  elves  advance, 
Rebellion  prints  the  footsteps  of  the  dance. 
Such  are  their  doctrines,  such  contempt  they  show 
To  Heaven  above,  and  to  their  prince  below. 
As  none  but  traitors  and  blasphemers  know. 
God,  like  the  tyrant  of  the  skies,  is  placed. 
And  kings,  like  slaves,  beneath  the  crowd  debased. 
So  fulsome  is  their  food,  that  flocks  refuse 
To  bite,  and  only  dogs  for  physic  use. 
As,  where  the  lightning  runs  along  the  gi'ound, 
No  husbandry  can  heal  the  blasting  wound. 
Nor  bladed  grass,  nor  bearded  corn  succeeds, 
But  scales  of  scurf  and  putrefaction  breeds  : 
Such  wars,  such  waste,  such  fiery  tracts  of  dearth 
Their  zeal  has  left,  and  such  a  teemless  earth. 
But,  as  the  poisons  of  the  deadliest  kind 
Are  to  their  own  unhappy  coasts  confined ; 
As  only  Indian  shades  of  sight  deprive, 
And  magic  plants  will  but  in  Colchos  thrive  ; 
'    So  Presbytery  and  pestilential  zeal 
Can  only  flourish  in  a  commonweal. 

From  Celtic  woods  is  chased  the  wolfish  crew  ; 
But  ah  !  some  pity  e'en  to  brutes  is  due  : 
Their  native  walks,  methinks,  they  might  enjoy, 

.  Curb'd  of  their  native  malice  to  destroy. 

^  Of  all  the  tyrannies  on  human  kind, 

^  The  worst  is  that  which  persecutes  the  mind. 

•:  Let  us  but  weigh  at  what  offence  we  strike  ; 

)  'Tis  but  because  we  cannot  think  alike. 

'  In  punishing  of  this,  we  overthrow 
The  laws  of  nations  and  of  nature  too. 
Beasts  are  the  subjects  of  tyrannic  sway, 
Where  still  the  stronger  on  the  weaker  prey. 
Man  only  of  a  softer  mould  is  made. 
Not  for  his  fellows'  ruin,  but  their  aid : 
Created  kind,  beneficent  and  free, 
The  noble  image  of  the  Deity. 

One  portion  of  informing  fire  was  given 
To  brutes,  the  inferior  family  of  Heaven : 
The  Smith  Divine,  as  with  a  careless  beat, 
Struck  out  the  mute  creation  at  a  heat : 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  177 

But,  when  arrived  at  last  to  human  race, 

The  Godhead  took  a  deep  considering  space  ; 

And,  to  distingui.sh  man  from  all  the  rest, 

Unlock'd  the  sacred  treasures  of  his  breast-; 

And  mercy  mix'd  with  reason  did  impart, 

One  to  his  head,  the  other  to  his  heart : 

Keason  to  rule,  but  mercy  to  forgive  : 

The  first  is  law,  the  last  prerogative. 

And  Hke  his  mind  his  outward  form  appeared, 

When,  issuing  naked,  to  the  wondering  herd, 

He  charm'd  their  eyes ;  and,  for  they  loved,  they  fear'd : 

Not  arm'd  with  horns  of  arbitrary  might. 

Or  claws  to  seize  their  furry  spoils  in  hght, 

Or  with  increase  of  feet  to  o'ertake  them  in  their  flight : 

Of  easy  shape,  and  pliant  every  way  ;• 

Confessing  still  the  softness  of  his  clay, 

And  kind  as  kings  upon  their  coronation  day : 

With  open  hands,  and  with  extended  space 

Of  arms,  to  satisfy  a  large  embrace. 

Thus  kneaded  up  with  milk,  the  new-made  mim 

His  kingdom  o'er  his  kindred  world  began : 

Till  knowledge  misappUed,  misunderstood, 

And  pride  of  empire  sour'd  his  balmy  blood.' 

Then,  first  rebelling,  his  own  stamp  he  coins ; 

The  murderer  Cain  was  latent  in  his  loins : 

1  And  blood  began  its  first  and  loudest  cry, 

/  For  difiering  worship  of  the  Deity. 

'  Thus  persecution  rose,  and  farther  space 
Produced  the  mighty  hunter  of  his  race. 
Not  so  the  blessed  Pan  his  flock  increased. 
Content  to  fold  them  from  the  famish'd  beast : 
Mild  were  his  laws ;  the  Sheep  and  harmless  Hind 
Were  never  of  the  persecuting  kind.        .r/>.*^*r>-€>.^... 


Such  pity  now  the  pious  pastor  shows. 


Such  mercy  from  the  British  Lion  flows,  '<^'^'^€^^*j 


That  both  provide  protection  from  their  foes. 

Oh  happy  regions,  Italy  and  Spain, 
Which  never  did  those  monsters  entertain  ! 
The  Wolf,  the  Bear,  the  Boar,  can  there  advance 
No  native  claim  of  just  inheritance  ; 
And  self-preservmg  laws,  jevere  in  show, 
May  guard  their  fences  from  the  invading  foe. 
Where  birth  has  placed  them,  let  them  safely  share 
The  common  benefit  of  vital  air. 
17* 


) 


178  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

l^emselves  unharmful,  let  them  live  unharm'd ; 

Their  jaws  disabled  and  their  claws  disarm'd : 

Here,  only  in  nocturnal  bowlings  bold, 

They  dare  not  seize  the  Hind,  nor  leap  the  fold. 

More  powerful,  and  as  vigilant  as  they, 

The  Lion  awfully  forbids  the  prey. 

Their  rage  repress'd  though  pinch'd  with  famine  sore^ 

They  stand  aloof,  and  tremble  at  his  roar  : 

Much  is  their  hunger,  but  their  fear  is  more. 

These  are  the  chief :  to  number  o'er  the  rest, 

And  stand,  like  Adam,  naming  every  beast, 

Were  weary  work  : — nor  will  the  Muse  describe 

A  slimy-born  and  sun-begotten  tribe  ; 

Who,  far  from  steeples,  and  their  sacred  sound, 

In  fields  their  sullen  conventicles  found. 

These  gross,  half-animated  lumps  I  leave  ; 

Nor  can  I  think  what  thoughts  they  can  conceive : 

But  if  they  think  at  all,  'tis  sure  no  higher 

Than  matter,  put  in  motion,  may  aspire  : 

Souls  that  can  scarce  ferment  their  mass  of  clay, 

So  drossy,  so  divisible  are  they. 

As  would  but  serve  pure  bodies  for  allay : 

Such  souls  as  shards  produce,  such  beetle  things 

As  only  buzz  to  heaven  with  evening  wings ; 

Strike  in  the  dark,  offending  but  by  chance. 

Such  are  the  blindfold  blows  of  ignorance. 

They  know  not  beings,  and  but  hate  a  name ; 

To  them  the  Hind  and  Panther  are  the  same. 

The  Panther,  ijure  the  noblest,  next  the  Hind, 
And  fairest  creature  of  the  spotted  kind  ; 
Oh,  could  her  in-born  stains  be  wash'd  away, 
She  were  too  good  to  be  a  beast  of  prey  ! 
How  can  I  praise,  or  blame,  and  not  offend, 
Or  how  divide  the  frailty  from  the  friend  ? 
Her  faults  and  virtues  lie  so  mix'd,  that  she 
Nor  wholly  stands  condemn'd,  nor  wholly  free. 
Then,  hke  her  injured  Lion,  let  me  speak  ; 
He  cannot  bend  her,  and  he  would  not  break. 
Unkind  already,  and  estranged  in  part. 
The  Wolf  begins  to  share  her  wandering  heart : 
Though  unpolluted  yet  with  actual  iU, 
She  half  commits,  who  sins  but  in  her  wilL 
If,  as  our  dreaming  Platonists  report, 
There  could  be  spirits  of  a  middle  sort, 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  179 

Too  black  for  heaven,  and  yet  too  white  fonAiell, 

Who  just  dropp'd  half-way  down,  nor  lower  fell ; 

So  poised,  so  gently  she  descends  from  high, 

It  seems  a  soft  dismission  from  the  sky. 

Her  house  not  ancient,  whatsoe'er  pretence 

Her  clergy  heralds  make  in  her  defence ; 

A  second  century  not  half-way  run. 

Since  the  new  honours  of  her  blood  begun* 

A  Lion,  old,  obscene,  and  furious  made 

By  lust,  compress'd  her  mother  in  a  shade  ; 

Then,  by  a  left-hand  marriage,  weds  the  dame, 

Covering  adultery  with  a  specious  name  : 

So  Schism  begot ;  and  Sacrilege  and  she, 

A  well-match'd  pair,  got  graceless  Heresy. 

God's  and  kings'  rebels  have  the  same  good  causey 

To  trample  down  divine  and  human  laws  : 

Both  would  be  call'd  reformers,  and  their  hate 

Alike  destructive  both  to  Church  and  State  : 

The  fruit  proclaims  the  plant;  a  lawless  princa     na. 

By  luxury  reformed  incontinence  ; 

By  ruins,  charity ;  by  riots,  abstinence. 

Confessions,  fasts,  and  penance  set  aside  ; 

Oh.  with  what  ease  we  foUow  such  a  guide,       N 

Where  souls  are  starved,  and  senses  gratified  ! 

Where  marriage-pleasures  midnight  prayer  supply, 

And  matin  bells  (a  melancholy  cry) 

Are  tuned  to  merrier  notes,  increase  and  multiply* 

Keligion  shows  a  rosy-colour'd  face  ; 

Not  hatter'd  out  with  drudging  works  of  grace : 

A  down-hill  reformation  rolls  apace. 

What  flesh  and  blood  would  crowd  the  narrow  gate, 

Or,  tiU  they  waste  their  pamper'd  paunches,  wait  1 

All  would  be  happy  at  the  cheapest  rate. 

Though  our  lean  faith  these  rigid  laws  has  given. 
The  fulf-fed  Mussulman  goes  fat  to  heaven ; 
For  his  Arabian  prophet  with  dehghts 
Of  sense  allured  his  eastern  proselytes. 
The  jolly  Luther,  reading  him,  began 
To  interpret  Scriptures  by  his  Al-coran  ; 
To  grub  the  thorns  beneath  our  tender  feet, 
And  make  the  paths  of  Paradise  more  sweet: 
Bethought  him  of  a  wife  ere  half-way  gone, 
(For  'twas  uneasy  travelling  alone,) 


180  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

And,  in  this  ftiasquerade  of  mirth  and  love, 
Mistook  the  bUss  of  heaven  for  Bacchanals  above. 
Sure  he  presumed  of  praise,  who  came  to  stock 
The  ethereal  pastures  with  so  fair  a  flock, 
Burnish'd,  and  battening  on  their  food,  to  show 
Their  diligence  of  careful  herds  below. 

Our  Panther,  though  like  these  she  changed  her  head, 
Yet,  as  the  mistress  of  a  monarch's  bed, 
Her  front  erect  with  majesty  she  bore, 
The  crosier  wielded,  and  the  mitre  wore. 
Her  upper  part  of  decent  discipline 
Show'd  affectation  of  an  ancient  line  ; 
And  Fathers,  Councils,  Church,  and  Church's  head, 
Were  on  her  reverend  phylacteries  read. 
But  what  disgraced  and  disavow'd  the  rest, 
Was  Calvin's  brand,  that  stigmatised  the  beast. 
Thus,  Uke  a  creature  of  a  double  kind. 
In  her  own  labyrinth  she  lives  confined. 
To  foreign  lands  bo  sound  of  her  is  come, 
Humbly  content  to  be  despised  at  home. 
Such  is  her  faith,  where  good  cannot  be  had. 
At  least  she  leaves  the  refuse  of  the  bad  : 
Nice  in  her  choice  of  ill,  though  not  of  best, 
And  least  deform'd,  because  reformed  the  least. 
In  doubtful  points  betwixt  her  difiering  friends. 
Where  one  for  substance,  one  for  sign  contends. 
Their  contradicting  terms  she  strives  to  join  ; 
Sign  shall  be  substance,  substance  shall  be  sign. 
A  real  presence  all  her  sons  allow, 
And  yet  'tis  fiat  idolatry  to  bow. 
Because  the  Godhead's  there  they  know  not  how. 
Her  novices  are  taught  that  bread  and  wine 
Are  but  the  visible  and  outward  sign. 
Received  by  those  who  in  communion  join. 
But  the  inward  grace,  or  the  thing  signified. 
His  blood  and  body,  who  to  save  us  died ; 
The  faithful  this  thing  signified  receive  ; 
What  is't  those  faithful  then  partake  or  leave  1 
For  what  is  signified  and  understood, 
Is,  by  her  own  confession,  flesh  and  blood. 
Then,  by  the  same  acknowledgment,  we  know 
They  take  the  sign,  and  take  the  substance  too. 
The  literal  sense  is  hard  to  flesh  and  blood, 
But  nonsense  never  can  be  ui#erstood. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  181 

Her  wild  belief  on  every  wave  is  toss'd  ; 
But  sure  no  church  can  better  morals  boast : 
True  to  her  king  her  principles  are  found  ; 
Oh,  that  her*practice  were  but  half  so  sound ! 
Steadfast  in  various  turns  of  state  she  stood, 
And  seal'd  her  vow'd  affection  with  her  blood  : 
Nor  will  I  meanly  tax  her  constancy, 
That  interest  or  obhgement  made  the  tie, 
Bound  to  the  fate  of  murder'd  monarchy. 
Before  the  sounding  axe  so  falls  the  vine, 
Whose  tender  branches  round  the  poplar  twine  ; 
She  chose  her  ruin,  and  resign'd  her  life. 
In  death  undaunted  as  an  Indian  wife. 
A  rare  example  !  but  some  souls  we  see 
Grow  hard,  and  stiflfen  with  adversity. 
Yet  these  by  fortune's  favours  are  undone  ; 
Resolved,  into  a  baser  form  they  run. 
And  bore  the  wind,  but  cannot  bear  the  sun. 
Let  this  be  Nature's  frailty,  or  her  fate, 
Or  the  Wolf's  counsel,  her  new-chosen  mate  ; 
Still  she 's  the  fairest  of  the  fallen  crew. 
No  mother  more  indulgent,  but  the  true. 

Fierce  to  her  foes,  yet  fears  her  force  to  try, 
Because  she  wants  innate  authority ; 
For  how  can  she  constrain  them  to  obey. 
Who  has  herself  cast  off  the  lawful  sway  ? 
Rebellion  equals  all,  and  those,  who  toil 
In  common  theft,  will  share  the  common  spoil. 
Let  her  produce  the  title  and  the  right 
Against  her  old  superiors  first  to  fight ; 
If  she  reform  my  text,  e'en  that's  as  plain 
For  her  own  rebels  to  reform  again. 
As  long  as  words  a  difierent  sense  will  bear, 
And  each  may  be  his  own  interpreter. 
Our  airy  faith  will  no  foundation  find  : 
The  word 's  a  weathercock  for  every  wind : 
The  Bear,  the  Fox,  the  Wolf,  by  turns  prevail ; 
The  most  in  power  suppHes  the  present  gale. 
The  wretched  Panther  cries  aloud  for  aid 
To  Church  and  Councils,  whom  she  first  betray'd ; 
No  help  from  Fathers  or  Tradition's  train : 
Those  ancient  guides  she  taught  us  to  disdain, 
And  by  that  Scripture,  which  she  once  abused 
To  reformation,  stands  herself  accused. 


182  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

What  bills  for  breach  of  laws  can  she  prefer, 
Expounding  which  she  owns  herself  may  err  ? 
And,  after  all  her  winding  ways  are  tried, 
If  doubts  arise,  she  slips  herself  aside,  • 

And  leaves  the  private  conscience  for  the  guide. 
If  then  that  conscrehce  set  the  offender  free, 
It  bars  her  claim  to  Church  authority. 
How  can  she  censure,  or  what  crime  pretend. 
But  Scripture  may  be  construed  to  defend? 
E'en  those,  whom  for  rebeUion  she  transmits 
To  civil  power,  her  doctrine  first  acquits  ; 
Because  no  disobedience  can  ensue, 
"Where  no  submission  to  a  judge  is  due  ; 
Each  judging  for  himself,  by  her  consent, 
Whom  thus  absolved  she  sends  to  punishment. 
Suppose  the  magistrate  revenge  her  cause, 
'Tis  only  for  transgressing  human  laws. 
How  answering  to  its  end  a  Church  is  made. 
Whose  power  is  but  to  counsel  and  persuade  ? 
Oh  solid  rock,  on  which  secure  she  stands ! 
Eternal  house,  not  built  with  mortal  hands ! 
Oh  sure  defence  against  the  infernal  gate, 
A  patent  during  pleasure  of  the  state ! 

Thus  is  the  Panther  neither  loved  nor  fear'd, 
A  :pieer  mock  queen  of  a  divided  herd  ; 
Whom  soon  by  lawful  power  she  might  control, 
Herself  a  part  submitted  to  the  whole. 
Then,  as  the  moon  who  first  receives  the  light 
By  which  she  makes  our  nether  regions  bright, 
So  might  she  shine,  reflecting  from  afar 
The  rays  she  borrow'd  from  a  better  star ; 
Big  with  the  beams,  which  from  her  mother  flow, 
And  reigning  o'er  the  rising  tides  below  : 
Now,  naixing  with  a  savage  crowd,  she  goes, 
And  meanly  flatters  her  inveterate  foes, 
Kuled  while  she  rules,  and  losing  every  hour 
Her  wretched  remnants  of  precarious  power. 

One  evening,  while  the  cooler  shade  she  sought, 
Revolving  many  a  melancholy  thought. 
Alone  she  walk'd,  and  look'd  around  in  vain, 
With  rueful  visage,  for  her  vanish'd  train : 
None  of  her  sylvan  subjects  made  their  court ; 
Levees  and  couchees  pass'd  without  resort. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  183 

So  hardly  can  usurpers  manage  well 

Those  whom  they  first  instructed  to  rebel. 

More  Hberty  begets  desire  for  more  ; 

The  hunger  still  increases  with  the  store. 

Without  respect  they  brush'd  along  the  wood, 

Each  in  his  clan,  and,  fill'd  with  loathsome  food, 

Ask'd  no  permission  to  the  neighbouring  flood. 

The  Panther,  full  of  inward  discontent. 

Since  they  would  go,  before  them  wisely  went ; 

Supplying  want  of  power  by  drinking  first ; 

As  if  she  gave  them  leave  to  quench  their  thirst. 

Among  the  rest,  the  Hind,  with  fearful  face, 

Beheld  from  far  the  common  watering-place, 

Nor  durst  approach  ;  till  with  an  awful  roar 

The  sovereign  Lion  bade  her  fear  no  more. 

Encouraged  thus,  she  brought  her  younglings  nigh, 

Watching  the  motions  of  her  patron's  eye, 

And  drank  a  sober  draught ;  the  rest,  amazed. 

Stood  mutely  still,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed ; 

Survey'd  her  part  by  part,  and  sought  to  find 

The  ten-horn'd  monster  in  the  harmless  Hind, 

Such  as  the  Wolf  and  Panther  had  design'd. 

They  thought  at  first  they  dream'd  ;  for  'twas  oflfeno© 

With  them  to  que»tion  certitude  of  sense. 

Their  guide  in  faith  :  but  nearer  when  they  drew. 

And  had  the  faultless  object  full  in  view. 

Lord,  how  they  aU  admired  her  heavenly  hue  J 

Some,  who  before  her  fellowship  disdain'd. 

Scarce,  and  but  scarce,  from  in-born  rage  restrained, 

Now  frisk'd  about  her,  and  old  kindred  feign'd. 

Whether  for  love  or  interest,  every  sect- 

Of  all  the  savage  nation  show'd  respect. 

The  viceroy  Panther  could  not  awe  the  herd ; 

The  more  the  company,  the  less  they  fear'd. 

The  surly  Wolf  with  secret  envy  burst. 

Yet  could  not  howl ;  the  Hind  had  seen  him  first : 

But  what  he  durst  not  speak,  the  Panther  durst. 

For  when  the  herd,  sufficed,  did  late  repair 
To  ferny  heaths,  and  to  their  forest  lair, 
She  made  a  mannerly  excuse  to  stay, 
Proffering  the  Hind  to  wait  her  half  the  way : 
That,  since  the  sky  was  clear,  an  hour  of  talk 
Might  help  her  to  beguile  the  tedious  walk. 


.184  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

With  much  good-will  the  motion  was  embraced, 

To  chat  a  while  on  their  adventures  pa^t : 

Nor  had  the  grateful  Hind  so  soon  forgot 

Her  friend  and  fellow-sufferer  in  the  plot. 

Yet  wondering  how  of  late  she  grew  estranged, 

Her  forehead  cloudy,  and  her  countenance  changed, 

She  thought  this  hour  the  occasion  would  present 

To  learn  her  secret  cause  of  discontent, 

Which  well  she  hoped  might  be  with  ease  redress'd, 

Considering  her  a  well-bred  civil  beast, 

And  more  a  gentlewoman  than  the  rest, 

After  some  common  talk  what  rumours  ran, 

The  lady  of  the  spotted  muff  began. 


THE  SECOND  PART. 

*  Dame,  (said  the  Panther,)  times  are  mended  well, 

Since  late  among  the  Philistines  you  fell. 

The  toils  were  pitch'd,  a  spacious  tract  of  ground 

With  expert  huntsmen  was  encompass'd  round  ; 

The  inclosure  narrow'd,  the  sagacious  power 

Of  hounds  and  death  drew  nearer  every  hour  : 

'Tis  true,  the  younger  Lion  'scaped  the  snare, 

But  all  your  priestly  calves  lay  struggling  there, 

As  sacrifices  on  their  altars  laid. 

While  you,  their  careful  mother,  wisely  fled. 

Not  trusting  destiny  to  save  your  head. 

For,  whatever  promises  you  have  applied 

To  your  unfailing  Church,  the  surer  side 

Is  four  fair  legs  in  danger  to  provide. 

And  whate'er  tales  of  Peter's  chair  you  tell, 

Vet,  saving  reverence  of  the  miracle, 

The  better  luck  was  yours  to  'scape  so  well.' 

*  As  I  remember,  (said  the  sober  Hind,) 
These  toils  were  for  your  own  dear  self  design'd. 
As  well  as  me  ;  and  with  the  self-same  throw, 
To  catch  the  quarry  and  the  vermin  too. 
(Forgive  the  slanderous  tongues  that  call'd  you  so.) 
Howe'er  you  take  it  now,  the  common  cry 
Then  ran  you  down  for  your  rank  loyalty. 
Besides,  in  Popery  they  thought  you  nursed, 
(As  evil  tongues  will  ever  speak  the  worst,) 
Because  some  forms,  and  ceremonies  some 
You  kept,  and  stood  in  the  main  question  dumb. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  185 

Dumb  you  were  bom  indeed  ;  but  thinking  long, 

The  Test,  it  seems,  at  last  has  loosed  your  tongue. 

And  to  explain  what  your  forefathers  meant, 

By  real  presence  in  the  sacrament. 

After  long  fencing  push'd  against  a  wall. 

Your  salvo  comes,  that  he 's  not  there  at  all : 

There   changed  your  faith,  and  what  may  change  may 

fall.  m 

Who  can  believe  what  varies  every  day, 
Nor  ever  was,  nor  will  be  at  a  stay  1 ' 

*  Tortures  may  force  the  tongue  untruths  to  tell, 
And  I  ne'er  own  'd  myself  infallible, 

(Replied  the  Panther  :)  grant  such  presence  were, 

Yet  in  your  sense  I  never  own'd  it  there. 

A  real  virtue  we  by  faith  receive, 

And  that  we  in  the  sacrament  believe.' 

*  Then,  (said  the  Hind,)  as  you  the  matter  state, 

Not  only  Jesuits  can  equivocate  ; 

For  real,  as  you  now  the  word  expound, 

From  solid  substance  dwindles  to  a  sound. 

Methinks  an  iEsop*s  fable  you  repeat ; 

You  know  who  took  the  shadow  for  the  meat : 

Your  Church's  substance  thus  you  change  at  will, 

And  yet  retain  your  former  figure  still. 

I  freely  grant  you  spoke  to  save  your  life  ; 

For  then  you  lay  beneath  the  butcher's  knife. 

Long  time  you  fought,  redoubled  battery  bore, 

But,  after  all,  against  yourself  you  swore  ; 

Your  former  self :  for  every  hour  your  form 

Is  chopp'd  and  changed,  like  winds  before  a  storm. 

Thus  fear  and  interest  will  prevail  with  some. 

For  all  have  not  the  gift  of  martyrdom.' 

Thb  Panther  grinn'd  at  this,  and  thus  replied : 
That  men  may  err  was  never  yet  denied. 
But,  if  that  common  principle  be  true, 
The  canon,  dame,  is  levell'd  full  at  you. 
But,  shunning  long  disputes,  I  fain  would  see 
That  wondrous  wight  Infallibility.   . 
Is  he  from  heaven,  this  mighty  champion,  come  ? 
Or  lodged  below  in  subterranean  Rome  ? 
First,  seat  him  somewhere,  and  derive  his  race, 
Or  else  conclude  that  nothing  has  no  place.' 

*  Suppose,  though  I  disown  it,  (said  the  Hind,) 
The  certain  mansion  were  not  yet  assign'd  ; 

18 


186  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHEB. 

The  doubtful  residence  no  proof  can  bring 

Against  the  plain  existence  of  the  thing. 

Because  philosophera  may  disagree, 

If  sight  by  emission  or  reception  be, 

Shall  it  be  thence  inferred  I  do  not  see  ? 

But  you  require  an  answer  positive, 

Which  yet,  when  I  demand,  you  dare  not  give ; 

For  fallacies  in  universal^ve. 

I  then  affirm  that  this  unfiling  guide 

In  Pope  and  General  Councils  must  reside  ; 

Both  lawful,  both  combined :  what  one  decrees 

By  numerous  votes,  the  other  ratifies : 

On  this  undoubted  sense  the  Church  relies. 

'Tis  true,  some  doctors  in  a  scantier  space, 

I  mean,  in  each  apart,  contract  the  place. 

Some  who,  to  greater  length,  extend  the  line, 

The  Church's  after-acceptation  join. 

This  last  circumference  appears  too  wide  ; 

The  Church  diffiised  is  by  the  Council  tied ; 

As  members  by  their  representatives 

Obliged  to  laws,  which  Prince  and  Senate  gives. 

Thus  some  contract,  and  some  enlarge  the  space  : 

In  Pope  and  Council,  who  denies  the  place. 

Assisted  from  above  with  God's  unfaihng  grace  1 

Those  canons  all  the  needful  points  contain  ; 

Their  sense  so  obvious,  and  their  words  so  plain, 

That  no  disputes  about  the  doubtful  text 

Have  hitherto  the  labouring  world  perplex'd. 

If  any  should  in  after-times  appear. 

New  Councils  must  be  caU'd,  to  make  the  meaning  clear : 

Because  in  them  the  power  supreme  resides  ; 

And  all  the  promises  are  to  the  guides. 

This  may  be  taught  with  soimd  and  safe  defence : 

But  mark  how  sandy  is  your  own  pretence. 

Who,  setting  Councils,  Pope  and  Church  aside, 

Are  every  man  his  own  presuming  guide. 

The  sacred  books,  you  say,  are  full  and  plain, 

And  every  needful  point  of  truth  contain : 

AH,  who  can  read,  interpreters  may  be  : 

Thus,  though  your  several  Churches  disagree, 

Vet  every  saint  has  to  himself  alone 

rhe  secret  of  this  philosophic  stone. 

rhese  principles  your  jarring  sects  unite, 

JVTien  differing  doctors  and  disciples  fight. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  187 

Though  Luther,  Zuinglius,  Calvin,  holy  chiefs, 
Have  made  a  battle-royal  of  beliefs  ; 
Or,  hke  wild  horses,  several  ways  have  whirl'd 
The  tortured  text  about  the  Christian  world ; 
Each  Jehu  lashing  on  with  furious  force. 
That  Turk  or  Jew  could  not  have  used  it  worse ; 
No  matter  what  dissension  leaders  make. 
Where  every  private  man  may  saye  a  stake ; 
JRuled  by  the  Scripture  and  his  own  advice, 
Each  has  a  blind  bye-path  to  Paradise  ; 
Where,  driving  in  a  circle,  slow  or  fast. 
Opposing  sects  are  sure  to  meet  at  last. 
A  wondrous  charity  you  have  in  store 
For  aU  reformed  to  pass  the  narrow  door  : 
So  much,  that  Mahomet  had  scarcely  more. 
For  he,  kind  prophet,  was  for  damning  none  ; 
But  Christ  and  Moses  were  to  save  their  own : 
Himself  was  to  secure  his  chosen  race. 
Though  reason  good  for  Turks  to  take  the  place, 
And  he  aUow'd  to  be  the  better  man, 
In  virtue  of  his  holier  Al-coran.' 

^  True,  (said  the  Panther,)  I  shaU  ne'er  deny, 
My  brethren  may  be  saved  as  well  as  I : 
Though  Huguenots  contemn  our  ordination, 
Succession,  ministerial  vocation ; 
And  Luther,  more  mistaking  what  he  read, 
Misjoins  the  sacred  body  with  the  bread : 
Yet,  lady,  still  remember  I  maintain. 
The  word  in  needful  points  is  only  plain.' 

*  Needless,  or  needful,  I  not  now  contend, 
For  still  you  have  a  loop-hole  for  a  friend, 
(Rejoin'd  the  matron)  :  but  the  rule  you  lay 
Has  led  whole  flocks,  and  leads  them  stiU  astray. 
In  weighty  points,  and  full  damnation's  way. 
For  did  not  Arius  first,  Socinus  now, 
The  Son's  eternal  Godhead  disavow  ? 
Ahd  did  not  these  by  gospel  texts  alone 
Condemn  our  doctrine,  and  maintain  their  own  ? 
Have  not  aU  heretics  the  same  pretence 
To  plead  the  Scriptures  in  their  own  defence  ? 
How  did  the  Nicene  Council  then  decide 
That  strong  debate  ?  was  it  by  Scripture  tried  ? 
No,  sure  ;  to  that  the  rebel  would  not  yield  ; 
Squadrons  of  texts  he  marshaU'd  in  the  field ; 


188  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

That  was  but  civil  war,  an  equal  set, 
Where  piles  with  piles,  and  eagles  eagles  meti 
With  texts  point-blank  and  plain  he  faced  the  foe, 
And  did  not  Satan  tempt  our  Saviour  so  ? 
The  good  old  bishops  took  a  simpler  way ; 
Each  ask'd  but  what  he  heard  his  father  say, 
Or  how  he  was  instructed  in  his  youth. 
And  by  tradition's  force  upheld  the  truth.' 

The  Panther  smiled  at  this  ;  *  And  when,  (said  she,) 
Were  those  first  Councils  disallow'd  by  me  ] 
Or  where  did  I  at  sure  tradition  strike, 
Provided  still  it  were  apostohc  ? ' 

*  Friend,  (said  the  Hind,)  you  quit  your  former  ground. 
Where  all  your  faith  you  did  on  Scripture  found  :  . 

Now  'tis  tradition  join'd  with  holy  writ ;  '■'-■ 

But  thus  your  memory  betrays  your  wit.' 

'  No,  (said  the  Panther,)  for  in  that  I  view, 
When  your  tradition's  forged,  and  when  'tis  true. 
I  set  them  by  the  rule,  and,  as  they  square, 
Or  deviate  from  undoubted  doctrine  there, 
This  oral  fiction,  that  old  faith  declare.' 

Hind.  *  The  Council  steer'd,  it  seems,  a  different  course : 
They  tried  the  Scripture  by  tradition's  force  : 
But  you  tradition  by  the  Scripture  try ; 
Pursued  by  sects,  from  this  to  that  you  fly, 
Nor  dare  on  one  foundation  to  rely. 
The  word  is  then  deposed,  and  in  this  view, 
You  rule  the  Scripture,  not  the  Scripture  you.' 
*  Thus  (said  the  dame,  and,  smiling,  thus  pursued) 
I  see,  tradition  then  is  disallow'd. 
When  not  evinced  by  Scripture  to  be  true, 
And  Scripture,  as  interpreted  by  you. 
But  here  you  tread  upon  unfaithful  ground ; 
Unless  you  could  infallibly  expound : 
Which  you  reject  as  odious  Popery, 
And  throw  that  doctrine  back  with  scorn  on  me. 
Suppose  we  on  things  traditive  divide. 
And  both  appeal  to  Scripture  to  decide  ; 
By  various  texts  we  both  uphold  our  claim, 
Nay,  often,  ground  our  titles  on  the  same  : 
After  long  labour  lost,  and  time's  expense, 
Both  grant  the  words,  and  quarrel  for  the  sense. 
Thus  all  disputes  for  ever  must  depend  ; 
For  no  dumb  rule  can  controversies  end. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER,  189 

Thus,  when  you  said,  Tradition  must  be  tried 
By  sacred  writ,  whose  sense  yourselves  decide, 
You  said  no  more,  but  that  yourselves  must  be 
The  judges  of  the  Scripture  sense,  not  we. 
Against  our  Church-tradition  you  declare, 
And  yet  your  clerks  would  sit  in  Moses'  chair :  v 
At  least  'tis  proved  against  your  argument. 
The  rule  is  far  from  plain,  where  all  dissent.' 

*  If  not  by  Scriptures,  how  can  we  be  sure, 
(Replied  the  Panther,)  what  tradition  's  pure  1 
For  you  may  palm  upon  us  new  for  old : 

All,  as  they  say,  that  glitters,  is  not  gold.' 

*  How  but  by  following  her,  (repKed  the  dame,) 
To  whom  derived  from  sire  to  son  they  came ; 
Where  every  age  does  on  another  move. 

And  trusts  no  farther  than  the  next  above  ; 
Where  all  the  rounds  like  Jacob's  ladder  rise, 
Phe  lowest  hid  in  earth,  the  topmost  in  the  skies.' 

Sternly  the  savage  did  her  answer  mark, 
Her  glowing  eyeballs  glittering  in  the  dark, 
And  said  but  this  :  ^  Since  lucre  was  your  trade, 
Succeeding  times  such  dreadful  gaps  have  made, 
'Tis  dangerous  climbing  :  to  your  sons  and  you 
I  leave  the  ladder,  and  its  omen  too.' 

Hind.  ^  The  Panther's  breath  was  ever  famed  for  sweet ; 
But  from  the  Wolf  such  wishes  oft  I  meet : 
You  learn' d  this  language  from  the  blatant  beast, 
Or  rather  did  not  speak,  but  were  possess'd. 
As  for  your  answer,  'tis  but  barely  urged : 
You  must  evince  tradition  to  be  forged  ; 
Produce  plain  proofs,  un  blemish' d  authors  use, 
As  ancient  as  those  ages  they  accuse  ; 
'Till  when,  'tis  not  sufficient  to  defame  ; 
An  old  possession  stands  till  elder  quits  the  claim. 
Then  for  our  interest,  which  is  named  alone 
To  load  with  envy,  we  retort  your  own. 
For  when  traditions  in  your  faces  fly, 
E^solving  not  to  yield,  you  must  decry. 
As,  when  the  cause  goes  hard,  the  guilty  man 
Excepts,  and  thins  his  jury  all  he  can  ; 
So,  when  you  stand  of  other  aid  bereft. 
You  to  the  Twelve  Apostles  would  be  left. 
Your  friend  the  Wolf  did  with  more  craft  provide 
To  set  those  toys,  traditions,  quite  aside  ; 
18* 


190  a?HE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

And  Fathers  too,  unless  when,  reason  spent, 

He  cites  them  but  sometimes  for  ornament. 

But,  madam  Panther,  you,  though  more  sincere, 

Are  not  so  wise  as  your  adulterer  : 

The  private  spirit  is  a  better  blind. 

Than  all  the  dodging  tricks  your  authors  find. 

For  they,  who  left  the  Scripture  to  the  crowd, 

Each  for  his  own  pecuHar  judge  allow'd  ; 

The  way  to  please  them  was  to  make  them  proud. 

Thus,  with  full  sails,  they  ran  upon  the  shelf ; 

Who  could  suspect  a  cozenage  from  himself  1 

On  his  own  reason  safer  'tis  to  stand. 

Than  be  deceived  and  damn'd  at  second  hand. 

But  you,  who  Fathers  and  traditions  take. 

And  garble  some,  and  some  you  quite  forsake. 

Pretending  Church-authority  to  fix. 

And  yet  some  grains  of  private  spirit  mix. 

Are,  like  a  mule,  made  up  of  difi'ering  seed. 

And  that 's  the  reason  why  you  never  breed ; 

At  least  not  propagate  your  kind  abroad. 

For  home-dissenters  are  by  statutes  awed. 

And  yet  they  grow  upon  you  every  day, 

While  you,  to  speak  the  best,  are  at  a  stay. 

For  sects,  that  are  extremes,  abhor  a  middle  way. 

Like  tricks  of  state,  to  stop  a  raging  flood. 

Or  molhfy  a  mad-brain'd  senate's  mood : 

Of  all  expedients  never  one  was  good. 

Well  may  they  argue,  (nor  can  you  deny) 

If  we  must  fix  on  Church-authority, 

B.est  on  the  best,  the  fountain,  not  the  flood ; 

That  must  be  better  still,  if  this  be  good. 

Shall  she  command,  who  has  herself  rebell'd  ? 

Is  Antichrist  by  Antichrist  expell'd  ? 

Did  we  a  lawful  tyranny  displace. 

To  set  aloft  a  bastard  of  the  race  1 

Whj;  all  these  wars  to  win  the  Book,  if  we 

Must  not  interpret  for  ourselves,  but  she  1 

Either  be  wholly  slaves,  or  wholly  free. 

For  purging  fires  traditions  must  not  fight ; 

But  they  must  prove  episcopacy's  right. 

Thus  those  led  horses  are  from  service  freed ; 

You  never  mount  them  but  in  time  of  need. 

Like  mercenaries,  hired  for  home  defence,  ^ 

They  will  not  serve  against  their  native  prince. 


THE  HIND  AND  TPIE  PANTHER.  101 

Against  domestic  foes  of  hierarchy 
These  are  drawn  foi-th,  to  make  fanatics  fly ; 
But,  when  they  see  their  countrymen  at  hand, 
Marching  against  them  under  Church-command, 
Straight  they  forsake  their  colours,  and  disband. 

Thus  she,  nor  could  the  Panther  well  enlarge 
With  weak  defence  against  so  strong  a  charge  ; 
But  said  :  *  For  what  did  Christ  his  word  provide, 
If  still  his  Church  must  want  a  living  guide  ? 
Aad  if  all  saving  doctrines  are  not  there, 
Or  sacred  penmen  could  not  make  them  clear, 
From  after-ages  we  should  hope  in  vain 
For  truths  which  men  inspired  could  not  explain/ 

*  Before  the  word  was  written,'  (said  the  Hind,) 
Our  Saviour  preach'd  his  faith  to  human  kind : 
From  his  apostles  the  first  age  received 
Eternal  truth,  and  what  they  taught  beUeved. 
Thus  by  tradition  faith  was  planted  first ; 
Succeeding  flocks  succeeding  pastors  nursed. 
This  was  the  way  our  wise  Redeemer  chose, 
(Who  sure  could  all  things  for  the  best  dispose) 
To  fence  his  fold  from  their  encroaching  foes. 
He  could  have  writ  himself,  but  well  foresaw 
The  event  would  be  Uke  that  of  Moses'  law  ; 
Some  difference  would  arise,  some  doubts  remain. 
Like  those  which  yet  the  jarring  Jews  maintain. 
No  written  laws  can  be  so  plain,  so  pure, 
But  wit  may  gloss,  and  malice  may  obscure ; 
I^ot  those  indited  by  his  first  command, 
A  prophet  graved  the  text,  an  angel  held  his  hand. 
Thus  faith  was  ere  the  written  word  appear'd, 
And  men  beheved,  not  what  they  read,  but  heard. 
But  since  the  apostles  could  not  be  confined 
To  these,  or  those,  but  severally  design'd  , 
Their  large  commission  round  the  world  to  blow, 
To  spread  their  faith,  they  spread  their  labours  too. 
Yet  still  their  absent  flock  their  pains  did  share  ; 
They  hearken'd  still,  for  love  produces  care. 
And,  as  mistakes  arose,  or  discords  fell, 
Or  bold  seducers  taught  them  to  rebel, 
As  charity  grew  cold,  or  faction  hot. 
Or  lor^g  neglect  their  lessons  had  forgot, 
For  all  their  wants  they  wisely  did  provide, 
And  preaching  by  epistles  was  supplied : 


192  THE  HIJTD  ANT)  THE  PAXTHER. 

So  great  physicians  cannot  all  attend, 

But  some  they  visit,  and  to  some  they  send. 

Yet  all  those  letters  were  not  writ  to  all ; 

Nor  first  intended  but  occasional, 

Their  absent  sermons  ;  nor  if  they  contain 

All  needful  doctrines,  are  those  doctrines  plain. 

Clearness  by  frequent  preaching  must  be  wrought ; 

They  writ  but  seldom,  but  they  daily  taught. 

And  what  one  saint  has  said  of  holy  Paul, 

"  He  darkly  writ,"  is  true  applied  to  all. 

For  this  obscurity  could  Heaven  provide         ^"^^ 

More  prudently  than  by  a  living  guide,  ^   .  ■  ^ 

As  doubts  arose,  the  difference  to  decide  ? 

A  guide  was  therefore  needful,  therefore  made  ; 

And,  if  appointed,  sure  to  be  obey'd. 

Thus,  with  due  reverence  to  the  apostles'  writ, 

By  which  my  sons  are  taught,  to  which  submit ; 

I  think,  those  truths,  their  sacred  works  contain, 

The  Church  alone  can  certainly  explain  ; 

That  following  ages,  leaning  on  the  past, 

May  rest  upon  the  primitive  at  last. 

Nor  would  I  thence  the  word  no  rule  infer. 

But  none  without  the  Church-interpreter. 

Because,  as  I  have  urged  before,  'tis  mute. 

And  is  itself  the  subject  of  dispute. 

But  what  the  apostles  their  successors  taught. 

They  to  the  next,  from  them  to  us  is  brought, 

The  undoubted  sense  which  is  in  Scripture  sought. 

From  hence  the  Church  is  arm'd,  when  errors  rise. 

To  stop  their  entrance,  and  prevent  surprise  ; 

And,  safe  entrench'd  within,  her  foes  without  defies. 

By  these  all  festering  sores  her  councils  heal. 

Which  time  or  has  disclosed,  or  shall  reveal ; 

For  discord  cannot  end  without  a  last  appeal. 

Nor  can  a  council  national  decide, 

But  with  subordination  to  her  guide  : 

(I  wish  the  cause  were  on  that  issue  tried.) 

Much  less  the  Scripture  ;  for  suppose  debate 

Betwixt  pretenders  to  a  fair  estate, 

Bequeath'd  by  some  legator's  last  intent ; 

(Such  is  our  dying  Saviour's  testament :) 

The  will  is  proved,  is  open'd,  and  is  read  ; 

The  doubtful  heirs  their  differing  titles  plead: 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  193 

All  vouch  the  words  their  interest  to  maintaiu, 
And  each  pretends  by  those  his  cause  is  plain.j 
Shall  then  the  Testament  award  the  right  ? 
No,  that 's  the  Hungary  for  which  they  fight ; 
The  field  of  battle,  subject  of  debate  ; 
The  thing  contended  for,  the  fair  estate. 
The  sense  is  intricate,  'tis  only  clear 
What  vowels  and  what  consonants  are  there. 
Therefore  'tis  plain,  its  meaning  must  be  tried 
Before  some  judge  appointed  to  decide.' 

'  Suppose,  (the  fair  apostate  said,)  I  grant, 
The  faithful  flock  some  living  guide  should  want> 
Your  arguments  an  endless  chace  pursue  : 
Produce  this  vaunted  leader  to  our  view, 
This  mighty  Moses  of  the  chosen  crew.' 

The  dame,  who  saw  her  fainting  foe  retired, 
With  force  renew'd,  to  victory  aspired ; 
And,  looking  upward  to  her  kindred  sky, 
As  once  our  Saviour  own'd  his  Deity, 
Pronounced  his  words — "  She  whom  ye  seek  am  L** 
Nor  less  amazed  this  voice  the  Panther  heard, 
Than  were  those  Jews  to  hear  a  God  declared. 
Then  thus  the  matron  modestly  renew'd  : 
'  Let  all  your  prophets  and  their  sects  be  view'd, 
And  see  to  which  of  them  yourselves  think  fit 
The  conduct  of  your  conscience  to  submit : 
Each  proselyte  would  vote  his  doctor  best, 
With  absolute  exclusion  to  the  rest : 
Thus  would  your  Polish  diet  disagree. 
And  end,  as  it  began,  in  anarchy  : 
Yourself  the  fairest  for  election  stand. 
Because  you  seem  crown-general  of  the  land  : 
But  soon  against  your  superstitious  lawn 
Some  Presbyterian  sabre  would  be  drawn  : 
Jn  your  estabhsh'd  laws  of  sovereignty 
The  rest  some  fundamental  flaw  would  see, 
And  call  rebellion  gospel-hberty. 
To  Church-decrees  your  articles  require 
Submission  mollified,  if  not  entire. 
Homage  denied,  to  censures  you  proceed : 
But  when  Curtana  will  not  do  the  deed. 
You  lay  that  pointless  clergy-weapon  by, 
And  to  the  laws,  your  sword  of  justice,  fly. 


194  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Now  this  your  sects  the  more  unkindly  take, 

(Those  prying  varlets  hit  the  blots  you  make) 

Because  some  ancient  friends  of  yours  declare, 

Your  only  rule  of  faith  the  Scriptures  are, 

Interpreted  by  men  of  judgment  sound. 

Which  every  sect  will  for  themselves  expound ; 

Nor  think  less  reverence  to  their  doctors  due 

For  sound  interpretation,  than  to  you. 

If  then,  by  able  heads,  are  understood 

Your  brother  prophets,  who  reformed  abroad ; 

Those  able  heads  expound  a  wiser  way, 

That  their  own  ^eep  their  shepherd  should  obey. 

But  if  you  mean  yourselves  are  only  sound. 

That  doctrine  turns  the  Reformation  round, 

And  all  the  rest  are  false  reformers  found  ; 

Because  in  sundry  points  you  stand  alone. 

Not  in  communion  join'd  with  any  one  ; 

And  therefore  must  be  all  the  Church,  or  none. 

Then,  'till  you  have  agreed  whose  judge  is  best, 

Against  this  forced  submission  they  protest : 

While  sound  and  sound  a  different  sense  explains, 

Both  play  at  hardhead  till  they  break  their  brains ; 

And  from  their  chairs  each  other's  force  defy, 

While  unregarded  thunders  vainly  fly. 

I  pass  the  rest,  because  your  Church  alone 

Of  all  usurpers  best  could  fill  the  throne. 

But  neither  you,  nor  any  sect  beside. 

For  this  high  office  can  be  quahfied. 

With  necessary  gifts  required  in  such  a  guide. 

For  that,  which  must  direct  the  whole,  must  be 

Bound  in  one  bond  of  faith  and  unity : 

But  all  your  several  Churches  disagree. 

The  consubstantiating  Church  and  priest 

Refuse  commimion  to  the  Calvinist : 

The  French  reform'd,  from  preaching  you  restrain, 

Because  you  judge  their  ordination  vain  ; 

And  so  they  judge  of  yours,  but  donors  must  ordain. 

In  short,  in  doctrine,  or  in  discipHne, 

Not  one  reform'd  can  with  another  join  : 

But  all  from  each,  as  from  damnation,  fly ; 

No  union  they  pretend,  but  in  Non-Popery. 

Nor,  should  their  members  in  a  synod  meet, 

Could  any  Church  presume  to  mount  the  seat, 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  195 

Above  the  rest,  their  discords  to  decide  ; 
None  would  obey,  but  each  would  be  the  guide : 
And,  face  to  face,  dissensions  would  increase ; 
For  only  distance  now  preserves  the  peace. 
All  in  their  turns  accusers,  and  accused, 
Babel  was  never  half  so  much  confused  : 
What  one  can  plead,  the  rest  can  plead  as  well ; 
For  amongst  equals  hes  no  last  appeal, 
And  aU  confess  themselves  are  falhble. 
Now  since  you  grant  some  necessary  guide, 
All  who  can  err  are  justly  laid  aside  : 
Because  a  trust  so  sacred  to  confer 
Shows  want  of  such  a  sure  interpreter  ; 
And  how  can  he  be  needful  who  can  err  ? 
Then,  granting  that  unerring  guide  we  want, 
That  such  there  is  you  stand  obliged  to  grant : 
Our  Saviour  else  were  wanting  to  supply 
Our  needs,  and  obviate  that  necessity. 

It  then  remains,  that  Church  can  only  be 

The  guide,  which  owns  unfaihng  certainty ; 

3r  else  you  slip  your  hold,  and  change  your  side, 

Relapsing  from  a  necessary  guide. 

But  this  annex'd  condition  of  the  crown, 

Immunity  from  errors,  you  disown  ; 

Here  then  you  shrink,  and  lay  your  weak  pretences 
down. 

For  petty  royalties  you  raise  debate ; 

But  this  unfailing  universal  state 

You  shun  ;  nor  dare  succeed  to  such  a  glorious  weight ; 

And  for  that  cause  those  promises  detest, 

With  which  our  Saviour  did  his  Church  invest ; 

But  strive  to  evade,  and  fear  to  find  them  true, 

As  conscious  they  were  never  meant  to  you  : 

All  which  the  Mother-Church  asserts  her  own, 

And  with  unrivall'd  claim  ascends  the  throne. 

So  when  of  old  the  Almighty  Father  sate 

In  council,  to  redeem  our  ruin'd  state. 

Millions  of  millions,  at  a  distance  round. 

Silent,  the  sacred  consistory  crown'd, 

To  hear  what  mercy,  mix'd  with  justice,  could  propound 

All  prompt,  with  eager  pity,  to  fulfil 

The  fuU  extent  of  their  Creator's  will. 

But  when  the  stern  conditions  were  declared, 

A  moumfttl  whisper  through  the  host  wa«  heard, 


196  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

And  the  whole  hierarchy,  with  heads  hung  down, 
Submissively  declined  the  ponderous  profier'd  cro^wcp. 
Then,  not  till  then,  the  Eternal  Son  from  high 
Rose  in  the  strength  of  all  the  Deity ; 
Stood  forth  to  accept  the  terms,  and  underwent 
A  weight  which  all  the  frame  of  heaven  had  bent, 
Nor  he  himself  could  bear,  but  as  Omnipotent. 
Now,  to  remove  the  least  remaining  doubt. 
That  e'en  the  blear-eyed  sects  may  find  her  out, 
Behold  what  heavenly  rays  adorn  her  brows, 
What  from  his  wardrobe  her  beloved  allows 
To  deck  the  wedding-day  of  his  unspotted  spouse. 
Behold  what  marks  of  majesty  she  brings  ; 
Richer  than  ancient  heirs  of  eastern  kings  : 
Her  right  hand  holds  the  sceptre  and  the  keys. 
To  show  whom  she  commands,  and  who  obeys : 
With  these  to  bind,  or  set  the  sinner  free,         ,     v 
With  that  to  assert  spiritual  royalty.  v    ^ 

One  in  herself,  not  rent  by  schism,  but  sound,      ^^. 
Entire,  one  solid  shining  diamond  ;  '    ^ 

Not  sj^arkles  shatter'd  into  sects  Hke  you  : 
One  is  the  Church,  and  must  be  to  be  true : 
One  central  principle  of  \mity. 
As  undivided,  so  from  errors  free. 
As  one  in  faith,  so  one  in  sanctity. 
Thus  she,  and  none  but  she,  the  insulting  rage 
Of  heretics  opposed  from  age  to  age : 
Still  when  the  giant-brood  invades  her  throne. 
She  stoops  from  heaven,  and  meets  them  half-way  down, 
And  with  paternal  thunder  vindicates  her  crown. 
But  like  Egyptian  sorcerers  you  stand. 
And  vainly  lift  aloft  your  magic  wand. 
To  sweep  away  the  swarms  of  vermin  from  the  land  :  • 
You  could,  like  them,  with  like  infernal  force. 
Produce  the  plague,  but  not  arrest  the  course. 
But  when  the  boils  and  blotches,  with  disgrace 
And  public  scandal,  sat  upon  the  face. 
Themselves  attack'd,  the  Magi  strove  no  more, 
They  saw  God's  finger,  and  their  fate  deplore ; 
Themselves  they  could  not  cure  of  the  dishonest  sora 
Thus  one,  thus  pure,  behold  her  largely  spread, 
Like  the  fair  ocean  from  her  mother-bed  ; 
From  east  to  west  triumphantly  she  rides. 
All  shores  are  water'd  by  her  wealthy  tides. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  l^t 

The  Gospel-sound,  diffused  from  pole  to  pole,  3< 

"Where  winds  can  carry,  and  where  waves  can  roll, 
The  self-same  doctrine  of  the  sacred  page  V 

Convey'd  to  every  clime,  in  every  age. 

Here  let  my  sorrow  give  my  satire  place, 
To  raise  new  blushes  on  my  British  race ; 
Our  sailing  ships  like  common  sewers  we  use, 
And  through  our  distant  colonies  diffuse 
The  draught  of  dungeons,  and  the  stench  of  stews. 
Whom,  when  their  home-bred  honesty  is  lost. 
We  disembogue  on  some  far  Indian  coast : 
Thieves,  panders,  paillards,  sins  of  every  soH, 
Those  are  the  manufactures  we  export ; 
And  these  the  missioners  our  zeal  has  made : 
For,  with  my  country's  pardon  be  it  said, 
Keligion  is  the  least  of  all  our  trade. 

Yet  some  improve  their  traffic  more  than  we ; 
For  they  on  gain — their  only  god,  rely, 
And  set  a  p'lblic  price  on  piety. 
Industrious  of  the  needle  and  the  chart, 
They  run  full  sail  to  their  Japonian  mart ; 
Prevention  fear,  and,  prodigal  of  fame. 
Sell  all  of  Christian,  to  the  very  name; 
Kor  leave  enough  of  that  to  hide  their  naked  shame,  a  - 

Thus,  of  three  marks,  which  in  the  Creed  we  view,  "Iv^ 

Not  one  of  all  can  be  applied  to  you :  .   #/> 

Much  less  the  fourth  ;  in  vain,  alas  !  you  seek  0^ 

The  ambitious  title  of  Apostolic  : 
God-like  descent !  'tis  well  your  blood  can  be 
Proved  noble  in  the  third  or  fourth  degree: 
For  all  of  ancient  that  you  had  before, 
(I  mean  what  is  not  borrow'd  from  our  store) 
Was  error  fulminated  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
Old  heresies  condemned  in  ages  past. 
By  care  and  time  recover' d  from  the  blast, 

'Tis  said  with  ease,  but  never  can  be  proved, 
The  Church  her  old  foundations  has  removed,  ^ 

And  built  new  doctrines  on  unstable  sands  : 
Judge  that,  ye  winds  and  rains  :  you  proved  ]iQVj  yet  sl^a 

stands.  » 

Those  ancient  doctrines  charged  on  her  for  new. 
Show  when,  and  how,  and  from  what  hands  they  grew* 
We  claini  no  power,  when  heresies  grow  bold, 
To  coin  ^ew,taith,  but  still  declare  the  old. 
19 


198  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

How  else  could  that  obscene  disease  be  purged, 
When  controverted  texts  are  vainly  urged  ? 
To  prove  tradition  new,  there 's  somewhat  more 
Required,  than  saying,  'Twas  not  used  before. 
Those  monumental  arms  are  never  stirr'd, 
Till  schism  or  heresy  call  down  Goliah's  sword. 

Thus,  what  you  call  corruptions,  are,  in  truth, 
The  first  plantations  of  the  Gospel's  youth  ; 
Old  standard  faith :  but  cast  your  eyes  again. 
And  view  those  errors  which  new  sects  maintain, 
Or  which  of  old  disturbed  the  Church's  peaceful  reign ; 
And  we  can  point  each  period  of  the  time. 
When  they  began,  and  who 'begot  the  crime; 
Can  calculate  how  long  the  eclipse  endured. 
Who  interposed,  what  digits  were  obscured  : 
Of  all  which  are  already  pass'd  away. 
We  know  the  rise,  the  progress,  and  decay. 

Despair  at  our  foundations  then  to  strike, 
Till  you  can  prove  your  faith  apostolic  ; 
A  Hmpid  stream  drawn  from  the  native  source ; 
Succession  lawful  in  a  lineal  course. 
Prove  any  Church,  opposed  to  this  our  head, 
So  one,  so  pure,  so  unconfinedly  spread, 
Under  one  chief  of  the  spiritual  state, 
The  members  all  combined,  and  all  subordinate  : 
Show  such  a  seamless  coat,  from  schism  so  free, 
In  no  communion  join'd  with  heresy. 
If  such  a  one  you  find,  let  truth  prevail : 
Till  when  your  weights  will  in  the  balance  fail : 
A  Church  unprincipled  kicks  up  the  scale. 

But  if  you  cannot  think  (nor  sure  you  can 
Suppose  in  God  what  were  unjust  in  man) 
That  He,  the  fountain  of  eternal  grace. 
Should  suffer  falsehood,  for  so  long  a  space, 
To  banish  truth,  and  to  usurp  her  place : 
That  seven  successive  ages  should  be  lost. 
And  preach  damnation  at  their  proper  cost ; 
That  aU  your  erring  ancestors  should  die, 
Drown'd  in  the  abyss^of  deep  idolatry  : 
If  piety  forbid  such  thoughts  to  rise, 
Awake,  and  open  your  unwilling  eyes : 
God  hath  left  nothing  for  each  age  undone, 
From  this  to  that  wherein  he  sent  his  Son  : 
Then  think  but  well  of  him,  and  half  your  work  is  done 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  199 

See  how  his  Church,  adom'd  with  every  grace, 

With  open  arms,  a  kind  forgiving  face, 

Stands  ready  to  prevent  her  long-lost  son's  embrace. 

Not  more  did  Joseph  o'er  his  brethren  weep, 

Nor  less  himself  could  from  discovery  keep, 

When  in  the  crowd  of  suppliants  they  were  seen, 

And  in  their  crew  his  best- loved  Benjamin. 

That  pious  Joseph  in  the  Church  behold. 

To  feed  your  famine,  and  refuse  your  gold ; 

The  Joseph  you  exiled,  the  Joseph  whom  you  sold.' 

Thus,  while  with  heavenly  charity  she  spoke, 
A  streaming  blaze  the  silent  shadows  broke. 
Shot  from  the  skies  a  cheerful  azure  light ; 
The  birds  'obscene  to  forest  wing'd  their  flight, 
And  gaping  graves  received  the  wand'ring  guilty  spright. 

Such  were  the  pleasing  triumphs  of  the  sky, 
For  James's  late  nocturnal  victory ; 
The  pledge  of  his  almighty  Patron's  love, 
The  fireworks  which  his  angels  made  above. 
I  saw  myself  the  lambent  easy  light 
Gild  the  brown  horror,  and  dispel  the  night : 
The  messenger  with  speed  the  tidings  bore  ; 
News  which  three  labouring  nations  did  restore  ; 
But  Heaven's  own  Nuncius  was  arrived  before. 

By  this,  the  Hind  had  reach'd  her  lonely  cell. 
And  vapours  rose,  and  dews  unwholesome  fell. 
When  she,  by  frequent  observation  wise. 
As  one  who  long  on  heaven  had  fix'd  her  eyes, 
Discern'd  a  change  of  weather  in  the  skies. 
The  western  borders  were  with  crimson  spread, 
The  moon  descending  look'd  all  flaming  red  ; 
She  thought  good  manners  bound  her  to  invite 
The  stranger  dame  to  be  her  guest  that  night. 
*  'Tis  true,  coarse  diet,  and  a  short  repast, 
(She  said,)  were  weak  inducements  to  the  taste 
Of  one  so  nicely  bred,  and  so  unused  to  fast : 
But  what  plain  fare  her  cottage  could  afford, 
A  hearty  welcome  at  a  homely  board. 
Was  freely  hers  ;  and,  to  supply  the  rest. 
An  honest  meaning,  and  an  open  breast : 
Last,  with  content  of  mind,  the  poor  man's  wealth, 
A  grace-cup  to  their  common  patron's  health. 
This  she  desired  her  to  accept,  and  stay, 
For  fear  she  might  be  wilder'd  in  her  way, 


200  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Because  she  wanted  an  unerring  guide, 
And  then  the  dew-drops  on  her  silken  hide 
Her  tender  constitution  did  declare, 
Too  lady-like  a  long  fatigue  to  bear, 
And  rough  inclemencies  of  raw  nocturnal  air. 
But  most  she  fear'd  that,  travelling  so  late. 
Some  evil-minded  beasts  might  lie  in  wait. 
And  without  v/itness  wreak  their  hidden  hate.' 

The  Panther,  though  she  lent  a  listening  ear, 
Had  more  of  lion  in  her  than  to  fear  : 
Yet  wisely  weighing,  since  she  had  to  deal 
With  many  foes,  their  numbers  might  prevail, 
Keturn'd  her  all  the  thanks  she  could  afford ; 
And  took  her  friendly  hostess  at  her  word : 
Who,  entering  first  her  lowly  roof,  a  shed 
With  hoary  moss,  and  winding  ivy  spread, 
Honest  enough  to  hide  an  humble  hermit's  head ; 
Thus  graciously  bespoke  her  welcome  guest : 
*  So  might  these  walls,  with  your  fair  presence  blest, 
Become  your  dwelling-place  of  everlasting  rest ; 
Not  for  a  night,  or  quick  revolving  year, 
Welcome  an  owner,  not  a  sojourner. 
This  peaceful  seat  my  poverty  secures  ; 
War  seldom  enters  but  where  wealth  allures : 
Nor  yet  despise  it ;  for  this  poor  abode 
Has  oft  received,  and  yet  receives  a  God  ; 
A  God,  victorious  of  the  Stygian  race, 
Here  laid  his  sacred  limbs,  and  sanctified  the  place. 
This  mean  retreat  did  mighty  Pan  contain ; 
Be  emulous  of  him,  and  pomp  disdain. 
And  dare  not  to  debase  your  soul  to  gain.' 

The  silent  stranger  stood  amazed  to  see 
Contempt  of  wealth,  and  wilful  poverty ; 
And,  though  ill  habits  are  not  soon  controll'd, 
Awhile  suspended  her  desire  of  gold  ; 
But  civilly  drew  in  her  sharpened  paws, 
Not  violating  hospitable  laws, 
And  pacified  her  tail,  and  lick'd  her  frothy  jaws. 

The  Hind  did  first  her  country  cates  provide ; 
Then  couch'd  herself  securely  by  her  side. 


|^Sijf>^L'Fr  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  201 

THE  THIRD  PART. 

,  Much  malice,  mingled  with  a  little  wit, 
Perhaps,  may  censure  this  mysterious  writ : 
Because  the  muse  has  peopled  Caledon 
With  Panthers,  Bears,  and  Wolves,  and  beasts  unknown, 
As  if  we  were  not  stock'd  with  monsters  of  our  own. 
Let  ^sop  answer,  who  has  set  to  view 
Such  kinds  as  Greece  and  Phrygia  never  knew ; 
And  mother  Hubbard,  in  her  homely  dress, 
Has  sharply  blamed  a  British  Lioness  ; 
That  queen,  whose  feast  the  factious  rabble  keep, 
Exposed  obscenely  naked  and  asleep. 
Led  by  those  great  examples,  may  not  I 
The  wanted  organs  of  their  words  supply  ? 
If  men  transact  like  brutes,  'tis  equal  then 
For  brutes  to  claim  the  privilege  of  men. 

Others  our  Hind  of  folly  will  indict, 
To  entertain  a  dangerous  guest  by  night. 
I»et  those  remember,  that  she  cannot  die 
'Till  rolling  time  is  lost  in  round  eternity ; 
Nor  need  she  fear  the  Panther,  though  untamed, 
Because  the  Lion's  peace  was  now  proclaim'd : 
The  wary  savage  would  not  give  offence, 
To  forfeit  the  protection  of  her  Prince ; 
But  watch'd  the  time  her  vengeance  to  complete. 
When  all  her  furry  sons  in  frequent  senate  met ; 
Meanwhile,  she  quench'd  her  fury  at  the  flood. 
And  with  a  lenten  sallad  cool'd  her  blood. 
Their  commons,  though  but  coarse,  were  nothing  scant, 
Nor  did  their  minds  an  equal  banquet  want. 

For  now  the  Hind,  whose  noble  nature  strove 
To  express  her  plain  simplicity  of  love, 
Did  all  the  honours  of  her  house  so  well. 
No  sharp  debates  disturb'd  the  friendly  meal. 
She  turn'd  the  talk,  avoiding  that  extreme, 
To  common  dangers  past,  a  sadly-pleasing  theme ; 
Rememb'ring  every  storm  which  toss'd  the  state. 
When  both  were  objects  of  the  public  hate. 
And  dropp'd  a  tear  betwixt  for  her  own  children's  fate. 

Nor  fail'd  she  then  a  full  review  to  make 
Of  what  the  Panther  suffered  for  her  sake ; 
Her  lost  esteem,  her  truth,  her  loyal  care. 
Her  faith  unshaken  to  an  exiled  heir, 
19* 


202  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Her  strength  to  endure,  her  courage  to  defy ; 

Her  choice  of  honourable  infamy. 

On  these,  proUxly  thankful,  she  enlarged  ; 

Then  with  acknowledgment  herself  she  charged  ; 

For  friendship,  of  itself  an  holy  tie, 

Is  made  more  sacred  by  adversity. 

Now  should  they  part,  malicious  tongues  would  say, 

They  met  like  chance  companions  on  the  way, 

Whom  mutual  fear  of  robbers  had  possess'd  ; 

While  danger  lasted,  kindness  was  profess'd  ; 

But  that  once  o'er,  the  short-Hved  union  ends : 

The  road  divides,  and  there  divide  the  friends. 

The  Panther  nodded  when  her  speech  was  done, 
And  thank'd  her  coldly  in  a  hollow  tone  : 
But  said  her  gratitude  had  gone  too  far 
For  common  offices  of  Christian  care. 
If  to  the  lawful  heir  she  had  been  true. 
She  paid  but  Caesar  what  was  Caesar's  due. 
*  I  might,  (she  added,)  with  hke  praise  describe 
Your  suffering  sons,  and  so  return  your  bribe  : 
But  incense  from  my  hands  is  poorly  prized ; 
For  gifts  are  scorn'd  where  givers  are  despised. 
I  served  a  turn,  and  then  was  cast  away ; 
You,  like  the  gaudy  fly,  your  wings  display. 
And  sip  the  sweets,  and  bask  in  your  great  patron's  day.* 

This  heard,  the  matron  was  not  slow  to  find 
What  sort  of  malady  had  seized  her  mind : 
Disdain,  with  gnawing  Envy,  fell  Despite, 
And  canker'd  Malice  stood  in  open  sight : 
Ambition,  Interest,  Pride  without  control, 
And  Jealousy,  the  jaundice  of  the  soul ; 
Revenge,  the  bloody  minister  of  ill, 
AYith  all  the  lean  tormenters  of  the  will. 
'Twas  easy  now  to  guess  from  whence  arose 
Her  new-made  union  with  her  ancient  foes, 
Her  forced  civilities,  her  faint  embrace. 
Affected  kindness  with  an  alter'd  face  : 
Yet  durst  she  not  too  deeply  probe  the  wound. 
As  hoping  still  the  nobler  parts  were  sound  : 
But  strove  with  anodynes  to  assuage  the  smart. 
And  mildly  thus  her  medicine  did  impart. 

*  Complaints  of  lovers  help  to  ease  their  pain ; 
It  shows  a  rest  of  kindness  to  complain ; 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHEB.  203 

A  friendship  loth  to  quit  its  former  hold  ; 
And  conscious  merit  may  be  justly  bold : 
But  much  more  just  your  jealousy  would  show, 
If  other's  good  were  injury  to  you  : 
Witness,  ye  heavens,  how  I  rejoice  to  see 
Rewarded  worth  and  rising  loyalty. 
Your  warrior  offspring  that  upheld  the  crown, 
The  scarlet  honour  of  your  peaceful  gown, 
Are  the  most  pleasing  objects  I  can  find, 
Charms  to  my  sight,  and  cordials  to  my  mind : 
When  virtue  spooms  before  a  prosperous  gale. 
My  heaving  wishes  help  to  fiU  the  sail ; 
And  if  my  prayers  for  all  the  brave  were  heard, 
Caesar  should  still  have  such,  and  such  shoidd  still  re- 
ward. 

The  laboured  earth  your  pains  have  sow'd  and  till'd ; 
'Tis  just  you  reap  the  product  of  the  field : 
Your's  be  the  harvest,  'tis  the  beggar's  gain 
To  glean  the  faUings  of  the  loaded  wain. 
Such  scatter'd  ears  as  are  not  worth  your  care, 
Your  charity,  for  alms,  may  safely  spare. 
For  alms  are  but  the  vehicles  of  prayer. 
My  daily  bread  is  literally  implored  ; 
I  have  no  barns  nor  granaries  to  hoard. 
If  Caesar  to  his  own  his  hand  extends. 
Say,  which  of  yours  his  charity  offends  : 
You  know  he  largely  gives  to  more  than  are  his  friends. 
Are  you  defrauded,  when  he  feeds  the  poor  ? 
Our  mite  decreases  nothing  of  your  store. 
I  am  but  few,  and  by  your  fare  you. see 
My  crying  sins  are  not  of  luxury. 
Some  juster  motive  sure  your  mind  withdraws, 
And  makes  you  break  our  friendship's  holy  laws ; 
For  barefaced  envy  is  too  base  a  cause. 

Show  more  occasion  for  your  discontent ; 
Your  love,  the  Wolf,  would  help  you  to  invent : 
Some  German  quarrel,  or,  as  times  go  now. 
Some  French,  where  force  is  uppermost,  will  do. 
When  at  the  fountain's  head,  as  merit  ought 
To  claim  the  place,  you  take  a  swilling  draught. 
How  easy  'tis  an  envious  eye  to  throw. 
And  tax  the  sheep  for  troubhng  streams  below ; 
Or  call  her  (when  no  farther  cause  you  find) 
An  enemy  profess'd  of  all  your  kind. 


204  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

But  then,  perhaps,  the  wicked  world  would  think, 
The  Wolf  desigu'd  to  eat  as  well  as  drink.' 

This  last  allusion  gall'd  the  Panther  more, 
Because  indeed  it  rubb'd  upon  the  sore. 
Yet  seem'd  she  not  to  winch,  though  shrewdly  pain'd  • 
But  thus  her  passive  character  maintain'd. 

'  I  never  grudged,  whate'er  my  foes  report, 
Your  flaunting  fortune  in  the  Lion's  court. 
You  have  your  day,  or  you  are  much  belied. 
But  I  am  always  on  the  suffering  side  : 
You  know  my  doctrine,  and  I  need  not  say 
I  will  not,  but  I  cannot  disobey. 
On  this  firm  principle  I  ever  stood  ; 
He  of  my  sons  who  fails  to  make  it  good. 
By  one  rebellious  act  renounces  too  my  blood.' 

*  Ah,  (said  the  Hind,)  how  many  sons  have  you 
Who  call  you  Mother,  whom  you  never  knew  ! 
But  most  of  them  who  that  relation  plead, 
Are  such  ungracious  youths  as  wish  you  dead. 
They  gape  at  rich  revenues  which  you  hold, 
And  fain  would  nibble  at  your  grandame  Gold ; 
Inquire  into  your  years,  and  laugh  to  find 
Your  crazy  temper  shows  you  much  declined. 
Were  you  not  dim  and  doted,  you  might  see 
A  pack  of  cheats  that  claim  a  pedigree, 
No  more  of  kin  to  you,  than  you  to  me. 
Do  you  not  know,  that,  for  a  little  coin, 
Heralds  can  foist  a  name  into  the  hue  1 
They  ask  you"  blessing  but  for  what  you  have, 
But  once  possess'd  of  what  with  care  you  save, 
The  wanton  boys  would  dance  upon  your  grave. 

Your  sons  of  latitude,  that  court  your  grace. 
Though  most  resembling  you  in  form  and  face. 
Are  far  the  worst  of  our  pretended  race. 
And,  but  I  blush  your  honesty  to  blot. 
Pray  God  you  prove  them  lawfully  begot : 
For  in  some  Popish  libels  I  have  read," 
The  Wolf  has  been  too  busy  in  your  bed  ; 
At  least  their  hinder  parts,  the  belly-piece, 
The  paunch,  and  all  that  Scorpio  claims,  are  his. 
Their  malice,  too,  a  sore  suspicion  brings  ; 
For  though  they  dare  not  bark,  they  snarl  at  kings : 
Nor  blame  them  for  intruding  in  your  line  ; 
Fat  bishoprics  are  stiU  of  right  divine. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER,  2US 

Think  you  your  new  French  proselytes  are  come 
To  starve  abroad,  because  they  starved  at  home  ? 
Your  benefices  twinkled  from  afar  ; 
They  found  the  new  Messiah  by  the  star  : 
Those  Swiss  will  fight  on  any  side  for  pay, 
And  'tis  the  living  that  conforms,  not  they. 
Mark  with  what  management  their  tribes  divide, 
Some  stick  to  you^  and  some  to  t'  other  side, 
That  many  churches  may  for  many  mouths  provide. 
More  vacant  pulpits  would  more  converts  make  ; 
All  would  have  latitude  enough  to  take  : 
The  rest  unbeneficed  your  sects  maintain  ; 
For  ordinations  without  cures  are  vain, 
And  chamber  practice  is  a  silent  gain. 
Your  sons  of  breadth  at  home  are  much  like  these  ; 
Their  soft  and  yielding  metals  run  with  ease  : 
They  melt,  and  take  the  figure  of  the  mould  ; 
But  harden  and  preserve  it  best  in  gold.' 

*  Your  Delphic  sword,  (the  Panther  then  replied,) 
Is  double-edged,  and  cuts  on  either  side. 
Some  sons  of  mine,  who  bear  upon  their  shield 
Three  steeples  argent  in  a  sable  field, 
Have  sharply  tax'd  your  converts,  who,  unfed, 
Have  folio w'd  you  for  miracles  of  bread ; 
Such  who  themselves  of  no  religion  are, 
Allured  with  gain,  for  any  will  declare. 
Bare  lies  with  bold  assertions  they  can  face ; 
But  dint  of  argument  is  out  of  place. 
The  grim  logician  puts  them  in  a  fright ; 
'Tis  easier  far  to  flourish  than  to  fight. 
Thus  our  eigiith  Henry's  marriage  they  defame ; 
They  say  the  schism  of  beds  began  the  game. 
Divorcing  from  the  Church,  to  wed  the  dame  : 
Though  largely  proved,  and  by  himself  profess'd. 
That  conscience,  conscience  would  not  let  him  rest ; 
I  mean,  not  till  possess'd  of  her  he  loved. 
And  old,  uncharming  Katherine  was  removed. 
For  sundry  years  before  he  did  complain, 
And  told  his  ghostly  confessor  his  pain. 
With  the  same  impudence,  without  a  ground, 
They  say,  that  look  the  Reformation  round, 
No  Treatise  of  Humility  is  foimd  : 
But  if  none  were,  the  gospel  does  not  want ; 


206  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Our  Saviour  preach'd  it,  and  I  hope  you  grant, 
The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  was  Protestant.' 

'  No  doubt,  (repHed  the  Hind,)  as  sure  as  all 
The  writings  of  Saint  Peter  and  Saint  Paul : 
On  that  decision  let  it  stand  or  fall. 
Now,  for  my  converts,  who,  you  say,  unfed. 
Have  follow'd  me  for  miracles  of  bread ; 
Jude  not  by  hearsay,  but  observ^e  at  least. 
If  since  their  change  their  loaves  have  been  increased. 
The  Lion  buys  no  converts  ;  if  he  did. 
Beasts  would  be  sold  as  fast  as  he  could  bid. 
Tax  those  of  interest  who  conform  for  gain, 
Or  stay  the  market  of  another  reign  : 
Your  broad-way  sons  would  never  be  too  nice 
To  close  with  Calvin,  if  he  paid  their  price  ; 
But,  raised  three  steeples  higher,  would  change  their 

note. 
And  quit  the  cassock  for  the  canting-coat. 
Now,  if  you  damn  this  censure,  as  too  bold, 
Judgo  by  yourselves,  and  think  not  others  sold. 

Meantime,  my  sons  accused,  by  fame's  report. 
Pay  small  attendance  at  the  Lion's  court. 
Nor  rise  with  early  crowds,  nor  flatter  late  ; 
(For  silently  they  beg,  who  daily  wait.) 
Preferment  is  bestow'd,  that  comes  unsought ; 
Attendance  is  a  bribe,  and  then  tis  bought. 
How  they  should  speed,  their  fortune  is  untried ; 
For  not  to  ask,  is  not  to  be  denied. 
For  what  they  have,  their  God  and  King  they  bless. 
And  hope  they  should  not  murmur,  had  they  less  : 
But,  if  reduced  subsistence  to  implore. 
In  common  prudence  they  would  pass  your  door. 
Unpitied  Hudibras,  your  champion  friend, 
Has  shown  how  far  your  charities  extend. 
This  lasting  verse  shall  on  his  tomb  be  read, 
"  He  shamed  you  Hving,  and  upbraids  you  dead." 
With  odious  atheist  names  you  load  your  foes ; 
Your  liberal  Clergy  why  did  I  expose  ? 
It  never  fails  in  charities  like  those. 
In  climes  where  true  EeHgion  is  profess'd, 
That  imputation  were  no  laughing  jest : 
But  Imprimatur^  with  a  chaplain's  name, 
Is  here  sufficient  hcence  to  defame. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  207 

What  wonder  is't  that  black  detraction  thrives  ? 
The  homicide  of  names  is  less  than  Uves  ; 
And  yet  the  perjured  murderer  survives.' 

This  said,  she  paused  a  little,  and  suppress'd 
The  boihng  indignation  of  her  breast. 
She  knew  the  virtue  of  her  blade,  nor  would 
Pollute  her  satire  with  ignoble  blood  : 
Her  panting  foe  she  saw  before  her  eye, 
And  back  she  drew  the  shining  weapon  dry. 
So  when  the  generous  Lion  has  in  sight 
His  equal  match,  he  rouses  for  the  fight ; 
But  when  his  foe  lies  prostrate  on  the  plain, 
He  sheathes  his  paws,  uncurls  his  angry  mane, 
And,  pleased  with  bloodless  honours  of  the  day, 
Walks  over  and  disdains  the  inglorious  prey. 
So  James,  if  great  with  less  we  may  compare, 
Arrests  his  rolling  thunder-bolts  in  air  ; 
And  grants  ungrateful  friends  a  lengthen 'd  space, 
To  implore  the  remnants  of  long-suffering  grace. 

This  breathing-time  the  matron  took ;  and  then 
Eesumed  the  thread  of  her  discourse  again. 

*  Be  vengeance  wholly  left  to  powers  divine,  » 

And  let  Heaven  judge  betwixt  your  sons  and  mine :      / 
If  joys  hereafter  must  be  purchased  here  .    • 

With  loss  of  all  that  mortals  hold  so  dear, 
Then  welcome  infamy  and  pubHc  shame, 
And,  last,  a  long  farewell  to  worldly  fame. 
'Tis  said  with  ease,  but,  oh,  how  hardly  tried 
By  haughty  souls  to  human  honour  tied  ! 
Oh,  sharp  convulsive  pangs  of  agonizing  pride  ! 
Down  then,  thou  rebel,  never  more  to  rise. 
And  what  thou  didst,  and  dost,  so  dearly  prize, 
That  fame,  that  darling  fame,  make  that  thy  sacrifice. 
'Tis  nothing  thou  hast  given  ;  then  add  thy  tears 
For  a  long  race  of  unrepenting  years  : 
'Tis  nothing  yet,  yet  all  thou  hast  to  give  ; 
Then  add  those  may-be  years  thou  hast  to  live : 
Yet  nothing  still ;  then  poor  and  naked  come, 
Thy  father  will  receive  his  unthrift  home, 
And  thy  bless'd  Saviour's  bloo(i  discharge  the  mighty  sum. 

^  Thus  (she .pursued)  I  discipline  a  son, 
Whose  uncheck'd  fury  to  revenge  would  run ; 
He  champs  the  bit,  impatient  of  his  loss, 
And  starts  aside,  and  nounders  at  thd  cross. 


fi08  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Instruct  him  better,  gracious  God,  to  know, 

As  thine  is  vengeance,  so  forgiveness  too  : 

That,  sujBfering  from  ill  tongues,  he  bears  no  more 

Than  what  his  Sovereign  bears,  and  what  his  Saviour  bore. 

It  now  remains  for  you  to  school  your  child, 
And  ask  why  God's  anointed  he  reviled  ; 
A  King  and  Princess  dead  !  did  Shimei  worse  ? 
The  curser's  punishment  should  fright  the  curse : 
Your  son  was  warn'd,  and  wisely  gave  it  o'er. 
But  he,  who  counsell'd  him,  has  paid  the  score  ; 
The  heavy  malice  could  no  higher  tend, 
But  woe  to  him  on  whom  the  weights  descend. 
So  to  permitted  ills  the  demon  flies  ; 
His  rage  is  aim'd  at  Him  who  rules  the  skies  : 
Constrain'd  to  quit  his  cause,  no  succour  found, 
The  foe  discharges  every  tire  around, 
In  clouds  of  smoke  abandoning  the  fight ; 
But  his  own  thundering  peals  proclaim  his  flight. 

In  Henry's  change  his  charge  as  ill  succeeds  ; 
To  that  long  story  httle  answer  needs : 
Confront  but  Henry's  words  with  Henry's  deeds. 
Were  space  allow' d,  with  ease  it  might  be  proved, 
What  springs  his  blessed  reformation  moved. 
The  dire  eft'ects  appear' d  in  open  sight. 
Which  from  the  cause  he  calls  a  distant  flight, 
And  yet  no  larger  leap  than  from  the  sun  to  Hght. 

Now  last  your  sons  a  double  paean  sound, 
A  Treatise  of  Humility  is  found. 
'Tis  found,  but  better  it  had  ne'er  been  sought, 
Than  thus  in  Protestant  procession  brought. 
The  famed  original  through  Spain  is  known, 
Rodriguez'  work,  my  celebrated  son, 
Which  yours,  by  ill-translating,  made  his  own  ; 
Conceal'd  its  author,  and  usurp'd  the  name. 
The  basest  and  ignoblest  theft  of  fame. 
My  altars  kindled  first  that  living  coal ; 
Kestore,  or  practise  better  what  you  stole : 
That  virtue  could  this  humble  verse  inspire, 
'Tis  all  the  restitution  I  require.' 

Glad  was  the  Panther  that  the  charge  was  closed, 
And  none  of  aU  her  fav'rite  sons  exposed. 
For  laws  of  arms  permit  each  injured  man 
To  make  himself  a  saver  where  he  can. 


THE  HIND   AND  THE  PANTHER.  209 

Perhaps  the  plunder'd  merchant  cannot  tell 
The  names  of  pirates  in  whose  hands  he  fell ; 
But  at  the  den  of  thieves  he  justly  flies, 
And  every  Algerine  is  lawful  prize. 
No  private  person  in  the  foe's  estate 
Can  plead  exemption  from  the  pubhc  fate. 
Yet  Christian  laws  allow  not  such  redress ; 
Then  let  the  greater  supersede  the  less. 
But  let  the  abettors  of  the  Panther's  crime 
Learn  to  make  fairer  wars  another  time. 
Some  characters  may  sure  be  found  to  write 
Among  her  sons  ;  for  'tis  no  common  sight, 
A  spotted  dam,  and  all  her  offspring  white. 

The  savage,  though  she  saw  her  plea  controU'd, 
Yet  would  not  wholly  seem  to  quit  her  hold, 
But  offer'd  fairly  to  compound  the  strife. 
And  judge  conversion  by  the  convert's  life. 
*  'Tis  true,  (she  said,)  I  think  it  somewhat  strange, 
So  few  should  follow  profitable  change  : 
For  present  joys  are  more  to  flesh  and  blood, 
Than  a  dull  prospect  of  a  distant  good. 
'Twas  weU  alluded  by  a  son  of  mine, 
(I  hope,  to  quote  him,  is  not  to  purloin) 
Two  magnets,  heaven  and  earth,  allure  to  bliss ; 
The  larger  loadstone  that,  the  nearer  this  : 
The  weak  attraction  of  the  greater  fails  ; 
"We  nod  a  while,  but  neighbourhood  p»?evails : 
But  when  the  greater  proves  the  neare»r  too, 
I  wonder  more  your  converts  come  so  slow. 
Methinks  in  those  who  firm  with  me  remain, 
It  shows  a  nobler  principle  than  gain.' 

*  Your  inference  would  be  strong  (the  Hind  replied) 
If  yours  were  in  effect  the  suffering  side  ; 
Your  clergy  sons  their  own  in  peace  possess, 
Nor  are  their  prospects  in  reversion  less. 
My  proselytes  are  struck  with  awful  dread  ; 
Your  bloody  comet-laws  hang  blazing  o'er  their  head : 
The  respite  they  enjoy  but  only  lent, 
The  best  they  have  to  hope,  protracted  punishment. 
Be  judge  yourself,  if  interest  may  prevail, 
Which  motives,  yours  or  mine,  will  turn  the  scale. 
While  pride  and  pomp  allure,  and  plentftpi>*j  ^,ase, 
That  is,  till  man's  predominant  passions  ceaae> 
Admire  no  longer  at  my  slow  increase. 
20 


210  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHEB. 

By  education  most  have  been  misled ; 
So  they  believe,  because  they  so  were  bred. 
The  priest  continues  what  the  nurse  began, 
And  thus  the  child  imposes  on  the  man. 
The  rest  I  named  before,  nor  need  repeat : 
But  interest  is  the  most  prevailing  cheat, 
The  sly  seducer  both  of  age  and  youth  ; 
They  study  that,  and  think  they  study  truth. 
When  interest  fortifies  an  argument. 
Weak  reason  serves  to  gain  the  wiU's  assent ; 
For  souls,  already  warp'd,  receive  an  easy  bent. 
Add  long  prescription  of  established  laws, 
And  pique  of  honour  to  maintain  a  cause. 
And  shame  of  change,  and  fear  of  future  ill, 
And  zeal,  the  blind  conductor  of  the  will ; 
And,  chief,  among  the  still-mistaking  crowd, 
The  fame  of  teachers  obstinate  and  proud. 
And,  more  than  all,  the  private  judge  allow'd ; 
Disdain  of  Fathers,  which  the  dance  began ; 
And  last,  uncertain  whose  the  narrower  span, 
The  clown  unread,  and  half-read  gentleman.' 

To  this  the  Panther,  with  a  scornful  smile : 
*  Yet  still  you  travel  with  unwearied  toil. 
And  range  around  the  realm  without  control, 
Among  my  sons  for  proselytes  to  prowl. 
And  here  and  there  you  snap  some  siUy  soul. 
You  hinted  fears  of  future  change  in  state  ; 
Pray  Heaven  you  did  not  prophesy  your  fate. 
Perhaps,  you  think  your  time  of  triumph  near, 
But  may  mistake  the  season  of  the  year  ; 
The  Swallow's  fortune  gives  you  cause  to  fear.' 

*  For  charity,  (repHed  the  matron,)  tell 
What  sad  mischance  those  pretty  birds  befel.' 

*  Nay,  no  mischance,  (the  savage  dame  replied,) 
But  want  of  wit  in  their  unerring  guide. 

And  eager  haste,  and  gaudy  hopes,  and  giddy  pride. 

Yet,  wishing  timely  warning  may  prevail, 

Make  you  the  moral,  and  I'll  teU  the  tale. 

^rhe  Swallow,  privileged  above  the  rest 

Of  all  the  birds,  as  man's  familiar  guest. 

Pursues  the  sun  in  summer,  brisk  and  bold. 

But  wisely  shims  the  persecuting  cold : 

Is  well  to  chancels  and  to  chimneys  known, 

Though  'tis  not  thought  she  feeds  on  smoke  alone. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  211 

From  hence  she  has  been  held  of  heavenly  line, 

Endued  with  particles  of  soul  divine. 

This  merry  chorister  had  long  possess'd 

Her  summer  seat,  and  feather'd  well  her  nest : 

Till  frowning  skies  began  to  change  their  cheer, 

And  Time  turn'd  up  the  wrong  side  of  the  year; 

The  shedding  trees  began  the  ground  to  strow 

With  yellow  leaves,  and  bitter  blasts  to  blow. 

Sad  auguries  of  winter  thence  she  drew, 

Which,  by  instinct,  or  prophecy,  she  knew ; 

When  prudence  warn'd  her  to  remove  betimes, 

And  seek  a  better  heaven,  and  warmer  climes. 

Her  sons  were  summon'd  on  a  steeple's  height, 

And,  call'd  in  common-council,  vote  a  flight ; 

The  day  was  named,  the  next  that  should  be  fair  ; 

All  to  the  general  rendezvous  repair, 

They  try  their  fluttering  wings,  and  trust  themselves  in  air 

But  whether  upward  to  the  moon  they  go. 

Or  dream  the  winter  out  in  caves  below, 

Or  hawk  at  flies  elsewhere,  concerns  us  not  to  know. 

Southwards,  you  may  be  sure,  they  bent  their  flight, 

And  harbour'd  in  a  hollow  rock  at  night ; 

Next  morn  they  rose,  and  set  up  every  sail ; 

The  wind  was  fair,  but  blew  a  mackerel  gale ; 

The  sickly  young  sat  shivering  on  the  shore, 

Abhorr'd  salt  water,  never  seen  before. 

And  pray'd  their  tender  mothers  to  delay 

The  passage,  and  expect  a  fairer  day. 

With  these  the  Martin  readily  concurr'd, 

A  church-begot,  and  church-believing  bird ; 

Of  little  body,  but  of  lofty  mind, 

Round-beUied,  for  a  dignity  designed. 

And  much  a  dunce,  as  Martins  are  by  kind : 

Yet  often  quoted  Canon-laws,  a-nd  Code, 

And  Fathers  which  he  never  understood ; 

But  httle  learning  needs  in  noble  blood : 

For,  sooth  to  say,  the  Swallow  brought  him  in, 

Her  household-chaplain,  and  her  next  of  kin : 

In  superstition  silly  to  excess. 

And  casting  schemes  by  planetary  guess  ; 

In  fine,  short-wing'd,  unnt  himself  to  fly, 

His  fear  foretold  foul  weather  in  the  sky. 

Resides,  a  Raven  from  a  withered  oak, 

Left  of  their  lodging,  was  observed  t©  eroak. 


215  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

That  omen  liked  him  not ;  so  his  advice 

"Was  present  safety,  bought  at  any  price ; 

(A  seeming  pious  care,  that  cover'd  cowardice.) 

To  strengthen  this,  he  told  a  boding  dream, 

Of  rising  waters,  and  a  troubled  stream, 

Sure  signs  of  anguish,  dangers,  and  distress. 

With  something  more,  not  lawful  to  express ; 

By  which  he  slily  seem'd  to  intimate 

Some  secret  revelation  of  their  fate. 

For  he  concluded,  once  upon  a  time,  ^^-^ 

He  found  a  leaf  inscribed  with  sacred  rhyme, 

Whose  antique  characters  did  well  denote 

The  Sibyl's  hand  of  the  Cumsean  grot : 

The  mad  divineress  had  plainly  writ, 

A  time  should  come  (but  many  ages  yet) 

In  which,  sinister  destinies  ordain, 

A  dame  should  drown  with  all  her  feather'd  train. 

And  seas  from  thence  be  calFd  the  Chelidonian  main. 

At  this,  some  shook  for  fear,  the  more  devout 

Arose,  and  bless'd  themselves  from  head  to  foot. 

'Tis  true,  some  stagers  of  the  wiser  sort 
Made  all  these  idle  wonderments  their  sport : 
They  said,  their  only  danger  was  delay. 
And  he,  who  heard  what  every  fool  could  say, 
Would  never  fix  his  thought,  but  trim  his  time  away. 
The  passage  yet  was  good  ;  the  wind,  'tis  true. 
Was  somewhat  high,  but  that  was  nothing  new, 
No  more  than  usual  equinoxes  blew. 
The  sun  (already  from  the  Scales  declined) 
Gave  little  hopes  of  better  days  behind. 
But  change  from  bad  to  worse  of  weather  and  of  wind. 
Nor  need  they  fear  the  dampness  of  the  sky 
Should  flag  their  wings,  and  hinder  them  to  fly, 
'Twas  only  water  thrown  on  sails  too  dry. 
But,  least  of  all,  philosophy  presumes 
Of  truth  in  dreams,  from  melancholy  fumes  : 
Perhaps  the  Martin,  housed  in  holy  ground, 
Might  think  of  ghosts  that  walk  their  midnight  round, 
'Till  grosser  atoms,  tumbling  in  the  stream 
Of  fancy,  madly  met,  and  clubb'd  into  a  dream  : 
As  little  weight  his  vain  presages  bear, 
Of  iU  effect  to  such  alone  who  fear  ; 
Most  prophecies  are  of  a  piece  with  these, 
Each  Nostradamus  can  foretel  with  ease  : 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  213 

Not  naming  persons,  and  confounding  times, 

One  casual  truth  supports  a  thousand  lying  rhymes. 

The  advice  was  true  ;  but  fear  had  seized  the  most, 
And  all  good  counsel  is  on  cowards  lost. 
The  question  crudely  put  to  shun  delay, 
'Twas  carried  by  the  major  part  to  stay. 

His  point  thus  gain'd,  Sir  Martin  dated  thence 
His  power,  and  from  a  priest  became  a  prince.     , 
He  order'd  all  things  with  a  busy  care, 
And  cells  and  refectories  did  prepare. 
And  large  provisions  laid  of  winter  fare  : 
But  now  and  then  let  fall  a  word  or  two 
Of  hope,  that  Heaven  some  miracle  might  show, 
And  for  their  sakes  the  sun  should  backward  go ; 
Against  the  laws  of  nature  upward  chmb, 
And,  mounted  on  the  Earn,  renew  the  prime : 
For  which  two  proofs  in  sacred  story  lay, 
Of  Ahaz'  dial,  and  of  Joshua's  day. 
In  expectation  of  such  times  as  these, 
A  chapel  housed  them,  truly  called  of  Ease  : 
For  Martin  much  devotion  did  not  ask ; 
They  pray'd  sometimes,  and  that  was  all  their  task. 

It  happened  (as  beyond  the  reach  of  wit 
Blind  prophecies  may  have  a  lucky  hit) 
That  this  accompHsh'd,  or  at  least  in  part. 
Gave  great  repute  to  their  new  Merlin's  art. 
Some  Swifts,  the  giants  of  the  Swallow  kind, 
Large-limb'd,  stout-hearted,  but  of  stupid  mind, 
(For  Swisses  or  for  Gibeonites  design'd) 
These  lubbers,  peeping  through  a  broken  pane, 
To  suck  fresh  air,  survey'd  the  neighbouring  plain ; 
And  saw  (but  scarcely  could  believe  their  eyes) 
New  blossoms  flourish,  and  new  flowers  arise  ; 
As  God  had  been  abroad,  and,  walking  there. 
Had  left  his  footsteps,  and  reform'd  the  year : 
The  sunny  hills  from  far  were  seen  to  glow 
With  ghttering  beams,  and  in  the  meads  below 
The  bumish'd  brooks  appear'd  with  liquid  gold  to  flow. 
At  last  they  heard  the  foolish  Cuckoo  sing. 
Whose  note  proclaim'd  the  holiday  of  spring. 

No  longer  doubting,  all  prepare  to  fly, 
And  repossess  their  patrimonial  sky. 
The  priest  before  them  did  his  wings  display ; 
20* 


214  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHEa. 

And  that  good  omens  might  attend  their  way, 
As  luck  would  have  it,  'twas  St.  Martin's  day. 
Who  but  the  Swallow  now  triumphs  alone  ? 
The  canopy  of  heaven  is  all  her  own : 
Her  youthful  offspring  to  their  haunts  repair, 
And  glide  along  in  glades,  and  skim  in  air, 
And  dip  for  insects  in  the  purhng  springs, 
And  stoop  on  rivers  to  refresh  their  wings. 
Their  mothers  think  a  fair  provision  made, 
That  every  son  can  live  upon  his  trade  : 
And,  now  the  careful  charge  is  off  their  hands, 
Look  out  for  husbands,  and  new  nuptial  bands : 
The  youthful  widow  longs  to  be  suppHed  ; 
But  first  the  lover  is  by  lawyers  tied 
To  settle  jointure-chimneys  on  the  bride. 
So  thick  they  couple,  in  so  short  a  space. 
That  Martin's  marriage-offerings  rise  apace. 
Their  ancient  houses,  running  to  decay. 
Are  fiirbish'd  up,  and  cemented  with  clay ; 
They  teem  already  ;  stores  of  eggs  are  laid. 
And  brooding  mothers  call  Lucina's  aid. 
Fame  spreads  the  news,  and  foreign  fowls  appear 
In  flocks  to  greet  the  new  returning  year. 
To  bless  the  founder,  and  partake  the  cheer. 
*    And  now  'twas  time  (so  fast  their  numbers  rise) 
To  plant  abroad,  and  people  colonies. 
The  youth  drawn  forth,  as  Martin  had  desired, 
(For  so  their  cruel  destiny  required)  ' 
Were  sent  far  off  on  an  ill-fated  day  ; 
The  rest  would  needs  conduct  them  on  their  way, 
And  Martin  went,  because  he  fear'd  alone  to  stay. 
So  long  they  flew  with  inconsiderate  haste. 
That  now  their  afternoon  began  to  waste  ; 
And,  what  was  ominous,  that  very  mom 
The  sun  was  enter'd  into  Capricorn ; 
Which,  by  their  bad  astronomer's  account, 
That  week  the  Virgin  balance  should  remount. 
An  infant  moon  eclipsed  him  in  his  way. 
And  hid  the  small  remainders  of  his  day. 
The  crowd,  amazed,  pursued  no  certain  mark  ; 
But  birds  met  birds,  and  justled  in  the  dark : 
Few  mind  the  public  in  a  panic  fright ; 
And  fear  increased  the  horror  of  the  night. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  215 

Night  came,  but  unattended  with  repose  ; 

Alone  she  came,  no  sleep  their  eyes  to  close  : 

Alone,  and  black  she  came  ;  no  friendly  stars  arose. 

What  should  they  do,  beset  with  dangers  round, 

No  neighbouring  dorp,  no  lodging  to  be  found. 

But  bleaky  plains,  and  bare  unhospitable  ground. 

The  latter  brood,  who  just  began  to  fly, 

Sick-feather'd,  and  unpractised  in  the  sky. 

For  succour  to  their  helpless  mother  call ; 

She  spread  her  wings  ;  some  few  beneath  them  crawl ; 

She  spread  them  wider  yet,  but  could  not  cover  all. 

To  augment  their  woes,  the  winds  began  to  move 

Debate  in  air,  for  empty  fields  above, 

'Till  Boreas  got  the  skies,  and  pour'd  amain 

His  rattling  hailstones  mix'd  with  snow  and  rain. 

The  joyless  morning  late  arose,  and  found 

A  dreadful  desolation  reign  around, 

Some  buried  in  the  snow,  some  frozen  to  the  ground. 

The  rest  were  strugghng  still  with  death,  and  lay 

The  Crows'  and  Eavens'  rights,  an  undefended  prey : 

Excepting  Martin's  race,  for  they  and  he 

Had  gain'd  the  shelter  of  a  hollow  tree  ; 

But  soon  discovered  by  a  sturdy  clown, 

He  headed  all  the  rabble  of  a  town, 

And  finish'd  them  with  bats,  or  poU'd  them  down. 

Martin  himself  was  caught  alive,  and  tried 

For  treasonous  crimes,  because  the  laws  provide 

No  Martin  there  in  winter  shall  abide. 

High  on  an  oak,  which  never  leaf  shall  bear, 

He  breathed  his  last,  exposed  to  open  air ; 

And  there  his  corpse,  unbless'd,  is  hanging  still. 

To  show  the  change  of  winds  with  his  prophetic  bilL' 

The  patience  of  the  Hind  did  almost  fail ; 
For  well  she  mark'd  the  malice  of  the  tale : 
Which  ribald  art  their  Church  to  Luther  owes ; 
In  maUce  it  began,  by  malice  grows  ; 
He  sow'd  the  serpent's  teeth,  an  iron-harvest  rose.    --J 
But  most  in  Martin's  character  and  fate. 
She  saw  her  slander'd  sons,  the  Panther's  hate, 
The  people's  rage,  the  persecuting  state  :  ^ 

Then  said, — '  I  take  the  advice  in  friendly  part ; 
You  clear  your  conscience,  or  at  least  yQur  heart : 
Perhaps  you  fail'd  in  your  foreseeing  skill, 
For  Swallows  are  unlucky  birds  to  kill : 


216  THE  HDTD  AND  THE  PANTHER.  ^ 

As  for  my  sons,  the  family  is  bless'd, 

Whose  every  child  is  equal  to  the  rest : 

No  Church  reform'd  can  boast  a  blameless  line  ; 

Such  Martins  build  in  yours,  and  more  than  mine : 

Or  else  an  old  fanatic  author  hes, 

Who  smum'd  their  scandals  up  by  centuries. 

But  through  your  parable  I  plainly  see 

The  bloody  laws,  the  crowd's  barbarity ; 

The  sunshine  that  offends  the  purblind  sight : 

Had  some  their  wishes,  it  would  soon  be  night. 

Mistake  me  not,  the  charge  concerns  not  you ; 

Your  sons  are  malecontents,  but  yet  are  true, 

As  far  as  non-resistance  makes  them  so  ; 

But  that 's  a  word  of  neutral  sense,  you  know, 

A  passive  term,  which  no  relief  will  bring, 

But  trims  betwixt  a  rebel  and  a  king.' 

*  Eest  well  assured,  (the  Par  delis  replied,) 
My  sons  would  all  support  the  regal  side, 
Though  Heaven  forbid  the   cause  by  battle  should  be 
.tried.' 

The  matron  answer'd  with  a  loud  Amen, 
And  thus  pursued  her  argument  again. 
^  If,  as  you  say,  and  as  I  hope  no  less, 
Your  sons  will  practise  what  yourselves  profess, 
What  angry  power  prevents  our  present  peace  ? 
The  Lion,  studious  of  our  common  good. 
Desires  (and  Kings'  desires  are  ill  withstood) 
To  join  our  nations  in  a  lasting  love ; 
The  bars  betwixt  are  easy  to  remove ; 
For  sanguinary  laws  were  never  made  above. 
If  you  condemn  that  prince  of  tyranny. 
Whose  mandate  forced  your  Gallic  friends  to  fly. 
Make  not  a  worse  example  of  your  own ; 
Or  cease  to  rail  at  causeless  rigour  shown. 
And  let  the  guiltless  person  throw  the  stone. 
Kis  blunted  sword  your  suffering  brotherhood 
fiave  seldom  felt ;  he  stops  it  short  of  blood : 
But  you  have  ground  the  persecuting  knife, 
And  set  it  to  a  razor-edge  on  life. 
Cursed  be  the  wit,  which  cruelty  refines, 
Or  to  his  father's  rod  the  scorpion  joins ; 
Your  finger  is  more  gross  than  the  great  monarch's  loins. 
But  you,  perhaps,  remove  that  bloody  note, 
And  stick  it  on  the  first  Keformers'  coat. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  217 

Oh,  let  their  crime  in  long  oblivion  sleep  : 
'Twas  theirs  indeed  to  make,  'tis  yours  to  keep. 
Unjust,  or  just,  is  all  the  question  now;  • 

'Tis  plain,  that  not  repealing  you  allow. 

To  name  the  Test  would  put  you  in  a  rage ; 
You  charge  not  that  on  any  former  age. 
But  smile  to  think  how  innocent  you  stand, 
Arm'd  by  a  weapon  put  into  your  hand. 
Yet  still  remember,  that  you  wield  a  sword 
Forged  by  your  foes  against  your  Sovereign  Lord ; 
Design'd  to  hew  the  imperial  cedar  down, 
Defraud  succession,  and  dis-heir  the  crown. 
To  abhor  the  makers,  and  their  laws  approve, 
Is  to  hate  traitors,  and  the  treason  love. 
What  means  it  else,  which  now  your  children  say, 
We  made  it  not,  nor  will  we  take  away  ? 

Suppose  some  great  oppressor  had,  by  shght 
Of  law,  disseized  your  brother  of  his  right. 
Your  common  sire  surrendering  in  a  fright ; 
Would  you  to  that  unrighteous  title  stand, 
Left  by  the  villain's  will  to  heir  the  land  ? 
More  just  was  Judas,  who  his  Saviour  sold; 
The  sacrilegious  bribe  he  could  not  hold. 
Nor  hang  in  peace,  before  he  render'd  back  the  gold 
What  more  could  you  have  done,  than  now  you  do, 
Had  Oates  and  Bedloe,  and  their  plot  been  true  ? 
Some  specious  reasons  for  those  wrongs  were  found ; 
The  dire  magicians  threw  their  mists  around. 
And  wise  men  walk'd  as  on  enchanted  ground. 
But  now,  when  Time  has  made  the  imposture  plain, 
(Late  though  he  foUow'd  Truth,  and  limping  held  her  train) 
What  new  delusion  charms  your  cheated  eyes  again  1 
The  painted  harlot  might  a  while  bewitch, 
But  why  the  hag  uncased,  and  all  obscene  with  itch  ? 

The  first  Reformers  were  a  modest  race ; 
Our  peers  possess'd  in  peace  their  native  place ; 
And  when  rebellious  arms  o'erturn'd  the  state. 
They  suffer'd  only  in  the  common  fate : 
But  now  the  Sovereign  mounts  the  regal  chair, 
And  mitred  seats  are  full,  yet  David's  bench  is  bare. 
Your  answer  is,  they  were  not  dispossess'd ; 
They  need  but  rub  their  metal  on  the  Test 
To  prove  their  ore :  'twere  well  if  gold  alone 
Were  touch'd  and  tried  on  your  discerning  stone ; 


218  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

But  that  unfaithful  Test  unfound  will  pass 
The  dross  of  Atheists,  and  sectarian  brass : 
As  if  the  experiment  were  made  to  hold 
For  base  production,  and  reject  the  gold. 
Thus  men  ungodded  may  to  places  rise, 
And  sects  may  be  preferr'd  without  disguise : 
No  danger  to  the  Church  or  State  from  these ; 
The  Papist  only  has  his  writ  of  ease. 
No  gainful  office  gives  him  the  pretence 
To  grind  the  subject,  or  defraud  the  prince. 
Wrong  conscience,  or  no  conscience,  may  deserve 
To  thrive,  but  ours  alone  is  privileged  to  sterve. 

Still  thank  yourselves,  you  cry ;  your  noble  raco 
We  banish  not,  but  they  forsake  the  place ; 
Our  doors  are  open :  true,  but  ere  they  come, 
You  toss  your  'censing  Test,  and  fume  the  room ; 
As  if  'twere  Toby's  rival  to  expel. 
And  fright  the  fiend  who  could  not  bear  the  smelL' 

To  this  the  Panther  sharply  had  replied ; 
But,  having  gain'd  a  verdict  on  her  side, 
She  wisely  gave  the  loser  leave  to  chide ; 
Well  satisfied  to  have  the  But  and  Peace, 
And  for  the  plaintiffs  cause  she  cared  the  less, 
Because  she  sued  in  forma  pauperis ; 
Yet  thought  it  decent  something  should  be  said ; 
For  secret  guilt  by  silence  is  betray'd. 
So  neither  granted  all,  nor  much  denied. 
But  answer'd  with  a  yawning  kind  of  pride : 

*  Methinks  such  terms  of  proffer'd  peace  you  brings 
As  once  ^neas  to  the  Italian  king : 
By  long  possession  all  the  land  is  mine ; 
You  strangers  come  with  your  intruding  line, 
To  share  my  sceptre,  which  you  call  to  join. 
You  plead  like  him  an  ancient  pedigree, 
And  claim  a  peaceful  seat  by  fate's  decree. 
In  ready  pomp  your  sacrificer  stands, 
To  imite  the  Trojan  and  the  Latin  bands, 
And,  that  the  league  more  firmly  may  be  tied, 
Demand  the  fair  Lavinia  for  your  bride. 
Thus  plausibly  you  veil  the  intended  wrong. 
But  still  you  Dring  your  exiled  gods  along ; 
And  will  endeavour,  in  succeeding  space, 
Those  household-puppets  on  our  hearths  to  place. 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  219 

Perhaps  some  barbarous  laws  have  been  preferr'd ; 
I  spake  against  the  Test,  but  was  not  heard ; 
These  to  rescind,  and  peerage  to  restore. 
My  gracious  Sovereign  would  my  vote  implore ; 
I  owe  him  much,  but  owe  my  conscience  more.' 

^  Conscience  is  then  your  plea,  (rephed  the  dame,) 
Which;' well  ihform'd,  wiU  ever  be  the  same. 
But  yours  is  much  of  the  chameleon  hue, 
To  change  the  dye  with  every  distant  view. 
When  first  the  Lion  sat  with  awful  sway, 
Your  conscience  taught  your  duty  to  obey : 
He  might  have  had  your  Statutes  and  your  Test ; 
No  conscience  but  of  subjects  was  profess'd. 
He  found  your  temper,  and  no  farther  tried. 
But  on  that  broken  reed — your  Church,  rehed. 
In  vain  the  sects  assay'd  their  utmost  art. 
With  offer'd  treasure  to  espouse  their  part ; 
Their  treasures  were  a  bribe  too  mean  to  move  his  heart. 
But  when,  by  long  experience,  you  had  proved, 
How  far  he  could  forgive,  how  well  he  loved ; 
A  goodness  that  excell'd  his  godlike  race, 
And  only  short  of  Heaven's  unbounded  grace ; 
A  flood  of  mercy  that  o'erflow'd  our  isle, 
Calm  in  the  rise,  and  fruitful  as  the  Nile ; 
Forgetting  whence  our  Egypt  was  suppUed, 
You  thought  your  Sovereign  bound  to  send  the  tide : 
Nor  upward  look'd  on  that  immortal  spring. 
But  vainly  deem'd,  he  durst  not  be  a  king : 
Then  conscience,  unrestrain'd  by  fear,  began 
To  stretch  her  limits,  and  extend  the  span ; 
Did  his  indulgence  as  her  gift  dispose. 
And  made  a  wise  aUiance  with  her  foes. 
Can  Conscience  own  the  associating  name, 
And  raise  no  blushes  to  conceal  her  shame  ? 
For  sure  she  has  been  thought  a  bashful  dame. 
But  if  the  cause  by  battle  should  be  tried. 
You  grant  she  must  espouse  the  regal  side : 
Oh  Proteus  conscience,  never  to  be  tied  I  . 
*what  Phoebus  from  the  Tripod  shall  disclose, 
Which  are,  in  last  resort,  your  friends  or  foes  ? 
Homer,  who  leam'd  the  language  of  the  sky, 
The  seeming  Gordian  knot  would  soon  untie ; 
Immortal  powers  the  term  of  Conscience  know, 
But  Interest  is  her  name  with  men  below.' 


220  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

'  Conscience  or  Interest  be  't,  or  both  in  one, 
(The  Panther  answer'd  in  a  surly  tone) 
The  first  commands  me  to  maintain  the  crown, 
The  last  forbids  to  throw  my  barriers  down. 
Our  penal  laws  no  sons  of  yours  admit, 
Our  Test  excludes  your  tribe  from  benefit. 
These  are  my  banks  your  ocean  to  withstand, 
Which  proudly  rising  overlooks  the  land ; 
And,  once  let  in,  with  unresisted  sway. 
Would  sweep  the  pastors  and  their  flocks  away. 
Tliink  not  my  judgment  leads  me  to  comply 
With  laws  imjust,  but  hard  necessity : 
Imperious  need,  which  cannot  be  withstood, 
Makes  ill  authentic,  for  a  greater  good. 
Possess  your  soul  with  patience,  and  attend : 
A  more  auspicious  planet  may  ascend ; 
Grood  fortune  may  present  some  "happier  time, 
With  means  to  cancel  my  unwilling  crime ; 
(Unwilling,  witness  all  ye  Powers  above) 
To  mend  my  errors,  and  redeem  your  love : 
That  little  space  you  safely  may  allow ; 
Your  all-dispensing  power  protects  you  now.' 

*  Hold,  (said  the  Hind,)  'tis  needless  to  explain; 
You  would  postpone  me  to  another  reign ; 
'Till  when  you  are  content  to  be  unjust : 
Your  part  is  to  possess,  and  mine  to  trusts 
A  fair  exchange  proposed  of  future  chance, 
For  present  profit  and  inheritance. 
Few  words  will  serve  to  finish  our  dispute ; 
Who  wiU  not  now  repeal,  would  persecute. 
To  ripen  green  revenge  your  hopes  attend, 
Wishing  that  happier  planet  would  ascend. 
For  shame  !  let  Conscience  be  your  plea  no  more ; 
To  will  hereafter,  proves  she  might  before ; 
But  she  's  a  bawd  to  Gain,  and  holds  the  door. 

Your  care  about  your  banks  infers  a  fear 
Of  threatening  floods  and  inundations  near : 
If  so,  a  just  reprise  would  only  be 
Of  what  the  land  usurp'd  upon  the  sea ; 
And  all  your  jealousies  but  serve  to  show 
Your  ground  is,  like  your  neighbour-nation,  lov. 
To  intrench  in  what  you  grant  imrighteous  laws, 
Is  to  distrust  the  justice  of  ^our  cause  j 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  221 

And  argues  that  the  true  religion  lies 
In  those  weak  adversaries  you  despise. 

Tyrannic  force  is  that  which  least  you  fear ; 
The  sound  is  frightful  in  a  Christian's  ear : 
Avert  it,  Heaven  !  nor  let  that  plague  be  sent 
To  us  from  the  dispeopled  continent. 

But  piety  commands  me  to  refrain ; 
Those  prayers  are  needless  in  this  monarch's  reign, 
Behold !  how  he  protects  your  friends  oppress'd, 
Receives  the  banish'd,  succours  the  distress'd: 
Behold,  for  you  may  read  an  honest  open  breast. 
He  stands  in  daylight,  and  disdains  to  hide 
An  act,  to  which  by  honour  he  is  tied, 
A  generous,  laudable,  and  kingly  pride. 
Your  Test  he  would  repeal,  his  peers  restore ; 
This  when  he  says  he  means,  he  means  no  more.' 

'  Vv^ell,  (said  the  Panther,)  I  believe  him  just. 

And  yet * 

'  And  yet,  'tis  but  because  you  must ; 
You  would  be  trusted,  but  you  would  not  trust.' 
(The  Hind  thus  briefly ;)  and  disdain'd  to  enlarge 
On  power  of  Kings,  and  their  superior  charge, 
As  Heaven's  trustees  before  the  people's  choice : 
Though  sure  the  Panther  did  not  much  rejoice 
To  hear  those  echoes  given  of  her  once  loyal  voice. 

The  matron  woo'd  her  kindness  to  the  last. 
But  could  not  win ;  her  hour  of  grace  was  pass'd. 
Whom,  thus  persisting,  when  she  could  not  bring 
To  leave  the  Wolf,  and  to  believe  her  King, 
She  gave  her  up,  and  fairly  wish'd  her  joy 
Of  her  late  treaty  with  her  new  ally : 
Which  well  she  hoped  would  more  successful  prove, 
Than  was  the  Pigeon's  and  the  Buzzard's  love. 
The  Panther  asFd^- twhat  concord  there  could  be 
Betwixt  two  kinds  whose  natures  disagree  V 
The  dame  replied :  *  'Tis  sung  in  every  street, 
The  common  chat  of  gossips  when  they  meet : 
But,  since  unheard  by  you,  'tis  worth  your  while 
To  take  a  wholesome  tale,  though  told  in  homely  style. 

A  plain  good  man,  whose  name  is  understood, 
(So  few  deserve  the  name  of  plain  and  good) 
Of  three  fair  lineal  lordships  stood  posse3s'd, 
And  lived,  as  reason  was,  upon  the  best, 
21 


222  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Inured  to  hardships  from  his  early  youth, 

Much  had  he  done,  and  suffer'd  for  his  truth : 

At  land  and  sea,  in  many  a  doubtful  fight. 

Was  never  known  a  more  adventurous  knight, 

Who  oftener  drew  his  sword,  and  always  for  the  right. 

As  fortune  would,  (his  fortune  came,  though  late) 
He  took  possession  of  his  just  estate : 
Nor  rack'd  his  tenants  with  increase  of  rent ; 
Nor  lived  too  sparing,  nor  too  largely  spent ;  ^ 
But  overlook' d  his  hinds ;  their  pay  was  just, 
And  ready,  for  he  scorn'd  to  go  on  trust : 
Slow  to  resolve,  but  in  performance  quick ; 
So  true,  that  he  was  awkward  at  a  trick. 
For  little  souls  on  little  shifts  rely, 
And  coward  arts  of  mean  expedients  try ; 
The  noble  mind  will  dare  do  any-thing  but  lie. 
False  friends  (his  deadliest  foes)  could  find  no  way 
But  shows  of  honest  bluntness,  to  betray ; 
That  unsuspected  plainness  he  believed ; 
He  look'd  into  himself,  and  was  deceived. 
Some  lucky  planet  sure  attends  his  birth, 
Or  Heaven  would  make  a  miracle  on  earth ; 
For  prosperous  honesty  is  seldom  seen 
To  bear  so  dead  a  weight,  and  yet  to  win. 
It  looks  as  fate  with  nature's  law  would  strive. 
To  show  plain-dealing  once  an  age  may  thrive : 
And,  when  so  tough  a  frame  she  could  not  bend, 
Exceeded  her  commission  to  befriend. 

This  grateful  man,  as  Heaven  increased  his  store, 
Gave  God  again,  and  daily  fed  his  poor. 
His  house  with  all  convenience  was  purvey'd ; 
The  rest  he  found,  but  raised  the  fabric  where  he  pray'd ; 
And  in  that  sacred  place  his  beauteous  wife 
Employ 'd  her  happiest  hours  of  holy  life. 

Nor  did  their  alms  extend  to  those  alone, 
Whom  common  faith  more  strictly  made  their  own ; 
A  sort  of  Doves  were  housed  too  near  their  hall, 
Who  cross  the  proverb,  and  abound  with  galL 
Though  some,  'tis  true,  are  passively  inclined, 
The  greater  part  degenerate  from  their  kind ; 
Voracious  birds,  that  hotly  bill  and  breed, 
And  largely  drink,  because  on  salt  they  feed. 
Small  gain  from  them  their  bounteous  owner  draws ; 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  223 

Yet,  bound  by  promise,  be  supports  their  cause, 
As  corporations  privileged  by  laws. 

That  house  which  harbour  to  their  kind  affords, 
Was  built,  long  since,  God  knows,  for  better  birds , 
But  fluttering  there,  they  nestle  near  the  throne, 
And  lodge  in  habitations  not  their  own. 
By  their  high  crops  and  corny  gizzards  known. 
Like  Harpies,  they  could  scent  a  plenteous  board, 
Then  to  be  sure  they  never  fail'd  their  lord : 
The  rest  was  form,  and  bare  attendance  paid ; 
They  drunk,  and  eat,  and  grudgingly  obey'd. 
The  more  they  fed,  they  raven  d  still  for  more ; 
They  drain'd  from  Dan,  and  left  Beersheba  poor. 
All  this  they  had  by  law,  and  none  repined ; 
The  preference  was  but  due  to  Levi's  kind : 
But  when  some  lay  preferment  fell  by  chance. 
The  Gourmands  made  it  their  inheritance. 
When  once  possess'd  they  never  quit  their  claim ; 
For  then  'tis  sanctified  to  Heaven's  high  name ; 
And  hallow'd  thus,  they  cannot  give  consent. 
The  gift  should  be  profaned  by  worldly  management. 

Their  flesh  was  never  to  the  table  served  ; 
Though  'tis  not  thence  inferr'd  the  birds  were  starved; 
But  that  their  master  did  not  like  the  food, 
As  rank,  and  breeding  melancholy  blood : 
Nor  did  it  with  his  gracious  nature  suit, 
E'en  though  they  were  not  Doves,  to  persecute 
Yet  he  refused  (nor  could  they  take  offence) 
Their  glutton  kind  should  teach  him  abstinence. 
Nor  consecrated  grain  their  wheat  he  thought. 
Which,  new  from  treading,  in  their  bills  they  brought : 
But  left  his  hinds  each  in  his  private  power. 
That  those  who  like  the  bran  might  leave  the  flour. 
He  for  himself,  and  not  for  others,  chose, 
Nor  would  he  be  imposed  on,  nor  impose ; 
Bat  in  their  faces  his  devotion  paid, 
And  sacrifice  with  solemn  rites  was  made, 
And  sacred  incense  on  his  altars  laid. 

Besides  these  jolly  birds,  whose  crops  impure 
Bepaid  their  commons  with  their  salt-manure ; 
Another  farm  he  had  behind  his  house. 
Not  overstock'd,  but  barely  for  his  use : 
Wherein  his  poor  domestic  poultry  fed, 
And  from  his  pious  hands  received  their  bread. 


f  24        THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Our  pamper'd  Pigeons,  with,  malignant  eyes, 

Beheld  these  inmates,  and  their  nurseries : 

Though  hard  their  fare,  at  evening,  and  at  mom, 

A  cruse  of  water  and  an  ear  of  corn ; 

Yet  still  they  grudged  that  modicum,  and  thought 

A  sheaf  in  every  single  grain  was  brought. 

Fain  would  they  filch  that  little  food  away, 

While  unrestrain'd  those  happy  gluttons  prey. 

And  much  they  grieved  to  see  so  nigh  their  hall, 

The  bird  that  warn'd  St.  Peter  of  his  fall ; 

That  he  should  raise  his  mitred  crest  on  high, 

And  clap  his  wings,  and  call  his  family 

To  sacred  rites  ;  and  vex  the  ethereal  powers 

With  midnight  matins  at  uncivil  hours  : 

Nay  more,  his  quiet  neighbours  should  molest. 

Just  in  the  sweetness  of  their  morning  rest. 

Beast  of  a  bird,  supinely  when  he  might 

Lie  snug  and  sleep,  to  rise  before  the  hght ! 

What  if  his  dull  forefathers  used  that  cry, 

Could  he  not  let  a  bad  example  die  1 

The  world  was  fallen  into  an  easier  way ; 

This  age  knew  better  than  to  fast  and  pray. 

Good  sense  in  sacred  worship  would  appear 

So  to  begin,  as  they  might  end  the  year. 

Such  feats  in  former  times  had  wrought  the  falls 

Of  crowing  Chanticleers  in  cloister'd  walls. 

Expell'd  for  this,  and  for  their  lands,  they  fled  ; 

And  sister  Partlet,  with  her  hooded  head, 

Was  hooted  hence,  because  she  would  not  pray  a-bed. 

The  way  to  win  the  restive  world  to  God, 

Was  to  lay  by  the  disciplining  rod. 

Unnatural  fasts,  and  foreign  forms  of  prayer: 

Religion  frights  us  with  a  mien  severe. 

'Tis  prudence  to  reform  her  into  ease. 

And  put  her  in  undress  to  make  her  please  : 

A  lively  faith  will  bear  aloft  the  mind. 

And  leave  the  luggage  of  good  works  behind. 

Such  doctrines  in  the  Pigeon-house  were  taught : 
You  need  not  ask  how  wondrously  they  wrought ; 
But  sure  the  common  cry  was  all  for  these. 
Whose  life  and  precepts  both  encouraged  ease. 
Yet  fearing  those  alluring  baits  might  fail, 
And  holy  deeds  o'er  all  their  arts  prevail ; 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER.  225 

(For  vice,  though  frontless,  and  of  harden'd  face, 

Is  daunted  at  the  sight  of  awful  grace,) 

An  hideous  figure  of  their  foes  they  drew, 

Nor  Hnes,  nor  looks,  nor  shades,  nor  colours  true  ; 

And  this  grotesque  design  exposed  to  public  view. 

One  would  have  thought  it  some  Egyptian  piece, 

With  garden-god^,  and  barking  deities, 

More  thick  than  Ptolemy  has  stuck  the  skies. 

All  so  perverse  a  draught,  so  far  unlike. 

It  was  no  libel  where  it  meant  to  strike. 

Yet  still  the  daubing  pleased,  and  great  and  small, 

To  view  the  monster,  crowded  Pigeon-hall. 

There  Chanticleer  was  drawn  upon  his  knees 

Adoring  shrines,  and  stocks  of  sainted  trees  ; 

And  by  him,  a  misshapen,  ugly  race  ; 

The  curse  of  God  was  seen  on  every  face. 

No  Holland  emblem  could  that  maHce  mend. 

But  still  the  worse  the  look,  the  fitter  for  a  fiend. 

The  master  of  the  farm,  displeased  to  find 
So  much  of  rancour  in  so  mild  a  kind. 
Inquired  into  the  cause,  and  came  to  know, 
The  Passive  Church  had  struck  the  foremost  blow ; 
With  groundless  fears,  and  jealousies  possessed, 
As  if  this  troublesome  intruding  guest 
Would  drive  the  birds  of  Venus  from  their  nest. 
A  deed  his  inborn  equity  abhorr'd ; 

But  Interest  will  not  trust,  though  God  should  plight  his 
word. 

A  law,  the  source  of  many  future  harms, 
Had  banish*d  all  the  poultry  from  the  farms ; 
With  loss  of  life,  if  any  should  be  found 
To  crow  or  peck  on  this  forbidden  ground. 
That  bloody  statute  chiefly  was  design 'd 
For  Chanticleer  the  white,  of  clergy  kind ; 
But  after-malice  did  not  long  forget 
The  lay  that  wore  the  robe  and  coronet. 
For  them,  for  their  inferiors  and  aUies, 
Their  foes  a  deadly  Shibboleth  devise  : 
By  which  unrighteously  it  was  decreed, 
That  none  to  trust,  or  profit,  should  succeed, 
Who  would  not  swallow  first  a  poisonous  wicked  weed': 
Or  that,  to  which  old  Socrates  was  cursed, 
Or  henbane  juice  to  swell  them  tiU  they  burst 
21* 


226  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

The  patron  (as  in  reason)  thought  it  hard 
To  see  this  inquisition  in  his  yard, 
By  which  the  Sovereign  was  of  subjects'  use  debarr'd. 
All  gentle  means  he  tried,  which  might  withdraw 
The  eflfects  of  so  unnatural  a  law : 
But  still  the  Dove-house  obstinately  stood 
Deaf  to  their  own,  and  to  their  neighbours'  good ; 
And  which  was  worse,  (if  any  worse  could  be,) 
Repented  of  their  boasted  loyalty : 
Now  made  the  champions  of  a  cruel  cause, 
And  drunk  with  fumes  of  popular  applause  ; 
For  those  whom  God  to  ruin  has  design'd. 
He  fits  for  fate,  and  first  destroys  their  mind. 

New  doubts  indeed  they  daily  strove  to  raise, 
Suggested  dangers,  interposed  delays  : 
And  emissary  Pigeons  had  in  store, 
Such  as  the  Meccan  prophet  used  of  yore, 
To  whisper  counsels  in  their  patron's  ear  ; 
And  veil'd  their  false  advice  with  zealous  fear. 
The  master  smiled  to  see  them  work  in  vain. 
To  wear  him  out,  and  make  an  idle  reign : 
He  saw,  but  sufierd  their  protractive  arts, 
And  strove  by  mildness  to  reduce  their  hearts ; 
But  they  abused  that  grace  to  make  allies. 
And  fondly  closed  with  former  enemies  ; 
For  fools  are  doubly  fools,  endeav'ring  to  be  wise. 

After  a  grave  consult  what  course  were  best, 
One,  more  mature  in  folly  than  the  rest. 
Stood  up,  and  told  them,  with  his  head  aside, 
That  desperate  cures  must  be  to  desperate  ills  applied; 
And  therefore,  since  their  main  impending  fear 
Was  from  the  increasing  race  of  Chanticleer, 
Some  potent  bird  of  prey  they  ought  to  fin4 
A  foe  profess'd  to  him,  and  all  his  kind  : 
Some  haggard  Hawk,  who  had  her  eyrie  nigh, 
Well  pounced  to  fasten,  and  well  wing'd  to  fly ; 
One  they  might  trust,  their  common  wrongs  to  wreak  : 
The  Musquet,  and  the  Coystrel  were  too  weak. 
Too  fierce  the  Falcon ;  but,  above  the  rest. 
The- noble  Buzzard  ever  pleased  me  best; 
Of  small  renown,  'tis  true,  for,  not  to  lie, 
We  call  him  but  a  Hawk  by  courtesy. 
I  know  he  hates  the  Pigeon-house  and  Farm, 
And  more,  in  time  of  war,  has  done  us  harm ; 


THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 


227 


But  all  his  hate  on  trivial  points  depends  ; 
Give  up  our  forms,  and  we  shaU  soon  be  friends. 
For  Pigeons'  flesh  he  seems  not  much  to  care  ; 
'  Cramm'd  Chickens  are  a  more  dehcious  fare. 
On  this  high  potentate,  without  delay, 
I  wish  you  would  confer  the  sovereign  sway : 
Petition  him  to  accept  the  government, 
And  let  a  splendid  embassy  be  sent. 

This  pithy  speech  prevail'd,  and  all  agreed, 
Old  enmities  forgot,  the  Buzzard  should  succeed 

Their  welcome  suit  was  granted  soon  as  heard 
His  lodgings  fumish'd,  and  a  train  prepared. 
With  B's  upon  their  breast,  appointed  for  his  guard 
He  came,  and  crown'd  with  great  solemnity,  ^      i 

God  save  king  Buzzard  was  the  general  cry.  Q^- ,  12>  uyx^v-^' 

A  portly  prince,  and  goodly  to  the  sight, 
He  seem'd  a  son  of  Anak  for  his  height : 
Like  those  whom  stature  did  to  crowns  prefer : 
Black-brow'd,  and  bluff,  like  Homer's  Jupiter : 
Broad-back' d,  and  brawny-built  for  love's  deUght ; 
A  prophet  form'd  to  make  a  female  proselyte. 
A  theologue  more  by  need  than  genM  bent ; 
By  breeding  sharp,  by  nature  confident. 
Interest  in  aU  his  actions  was  discem'd ; 
More  leam'd  than  honest,  more  a  wit  than  leam'd : 
Or  forced  bjr  fear,  or  by  his  profit  led, 
Or  both  conjoin'd,  his  native  clime  he  fled: 
But  brought  the  virtues  of  his  heaven  along : 
A  fair  behaviour,  and  a  fluent  tongue. 
And  yet  with  all  his  arts  he  could  not  thrive ; 
The  most  unlucky  parasite  alive. 
Loud  praises  to  prepare  his  paths  he  sent, 
And  then  himself  pursued  his  compliment ; 
But  by  reverse  of  fortune  chased  away. 
His  gifts  no  longer  than  their  author  stay : 
He  shakes  the  dust  against  the  ungrateful  race, 
And  leaves  the  stench  of  ordures  in  the  place. 
Oft  has  he  flatter'd  and  blasphemed  the  same  ; 
For  in  his  rage  he  spares  no  Sovereign's  name : 
The  hero  and  the  tyrant  change  their  style 
By  the  same  measure  that  they  frown  or  smile. 
When  well  received  by  hospitable  foes, 
The  kindness  he  returns,  is  to  expose : 


228  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

For  courtesies,  though  undeserved  and  great, 

No  gratitude  in  felon-minds  beget  : 

As  tribute  to  his  wit,  the  churl  receives  the  treat. 

His  praise  of  foes  is  venomously  nice  ; 

So  touch'd,  it  turns  a  virtue  to  a  vice  : 

"A  Greek,  and  bountiful,  forewarns  us  twice." 

Seven  sacraments  he  wisely  does  disown, 

Because  he  knows  Confession  stands  for  one  ; 

Where  sins  to  sacred  silence  are  conTey'd, 

And  not  for  fear,  or  love,  to  be  betray'd : 

But  he,  uncall'd,  his  patron  to  control, 

Divulged  the  secret  whispers  of  his  soul ; 

Stood  forth  the  accusing  Satan  of  his  crinaes, 

And  offer'd  to  the  Moloch  of  the  times. 

Prompt  to  assail,  and  careless  of  defence. 

Invulnerable  in  his  impudence, 

He  dares  the  world  ;  and  eager  of  a  name, 

He  thrusts  about,  and  justles  into  fame. 

Frontless,  and  satire-proof,  he  scours  the  streets. 

And  runs  an  Indian-muck  at  all  he  meets. 

So  fond  of  loud  report,  that  not  to  miss 

Of  being  known  (his  last  and  utmost  bhss) 

He  rather  would  be  known  for  what  he  is. 

Such  was,  and  is,  the  Captain  of  the  Test, 
Though  half  his  virtues  are  not  here  express'd  ; 
The  modesty  of  fame  conceals  the  rest. 
The  spleenful  Pigeons  never  could  create 
A  prince  more  proper  to  revenge  their  hate ; 
Indeed,  more  proper  to  revenge,  than  save  ; 
A  king,  whom  in  his  wrath  the  Almighty  gave  : 
For  all  the  grace  the  landlord  had  allow'd, 
But  made  the  Buzzard  and  the  Pigeons  proud  ; 
Gave  time  to  fix  their  friends,  and  to  seduce  the  crowd. 
They  long  their  fellow-subjects  to  inthral, 
Their  patron's  promise  into  question  call, 
And  vainly  think  he  meant  to  make  them  lords  of  all. 

False  fears  their  leaders  fail'd  not  to  suggest. 
As  if  the  Doves  were  to  be  dispossess'd  ; 
Nor  sighs,  nor  groans,  nor  goggling  eyes  did  want ; 
For  now  the  Pigeons  too  had  learn'd  to  cant. 
The  house  of  prayer  is  stock'd  wath  large  increase  ; 
Nor  doors,  nor  windows  can  contain  the  press ; 
For  birds  of  every  feather  fill  the  abode  ;    * 
E'en  Atheists  out  of  envy  own  a  God  : 


THE  HIKD  AND  THE  PANTHER.  229 

And,  reeking  from  the  stews,  adulterers  come, 

Like  Goths  and  Vandals,  to  demolish  Eome. 

That  Conscience,  which  to  all  their  crimes  was  mute, 

Now  calls  aloud,  and  cries  to  persecute  : 

No  rigour  of  the  laws  to  be  released, 

And  much  the  less,  because  it  was  their  Lord's  request : 

They  thought  it  great  their  Sovereign  to  control, 

And  named  their  pride,  nobility  of  soul. 

'Tis  true,  the  Pigeons,  and  their  prince  elect, 
Were  short  of  power,  their  purpose  to  effect : 
But  with  their  quills  did  all  the  hurt  they  could. 
And  cuff'd  the  tender  Chickens  from  their  food : 
And  much  the  Buzzard  in  their  cause  did  stir, 
Though  naming  not  the  patron,  to  infer, 
With  all.  respect,  he  was  a  gross  idolater. 

But  when  the  imperial  owner  did  espy, 
That  thus  they  tum'd  his  grace  to  villany, 
Not  suffering  wrath  to  discompose  hi^  mind, 
He  strove  a  temper  for  the  extremes  to  find. 
So  to  be  just,  as  he  might  still  be  kind  ; 
Then,  all  maturely  weigh'd,  pronounced  a  doom 
Of  sacred  strength  for  every  age  to  come. 
By  this  the  Doves  their  wealth  and  state  possess, 
No  rights  infringed,  but  licence  to  oppress  : 
Such  power  have  they  as  factious  lawyers  long 
To  crowns  ascribed, — that  Kings  can  do  no  wrong. 
But  since  his  own  domestic  birds  have  tried 
The  dire  effects  of  their  destructive  pride, 
He  deems  that  proof  a  measure  to  the  rest. 
Concluding  well  within  his  kingly  breast. 
His  fowls  of  nature  too  unjustly  were  oppressed. 
He  therefore  makes  all  birds  of  every  sect 
Free  of  his  farm,  with  promise  to  respect 
Their  several  kinds  alike,  and  equally  protect. 
His  gracious  edict  the  same  franchise  yields 
To  all  the  wild  increase  of  woods  and  fields. 
And  who  in  rocks  aloof,  and  who  in  steeples  builds : 
To  Crows  the  like  impartial  grace  affords, 
And  Choughs  and  Daws,  and  such  republic  birds : 
Secured  with  ample  privilege  to  feed. 
Each  has  his  district,  and  his  bounds  decreed ; 
Combined  in  common  interest  with  his  owi^ 
But  not  to  pass  the  Pigeons'  Rubicon. 


230  THE  HIND  AND  THE  PANTHER. 

Here  ends  the  reign  of  this  pretended  Dove ; 
All  prophecies  accomplish'd  from  above  ; 
For  Shiloh  comes  the  sceptre  to  remove. 
Reduced  from  her  imperial  high  abode, 
Like  Dionysius  to  a  private  rod, 
The  Passive  Church,  that  with  pretended  grace 
Did  her  distinctive  mark  in  duty  place, 
Now  touch'd,  reviles  her  Maker  to  his  face. 
What  after  happen'd  is  not  hard  to  guess  : 
The  small  beginnings  had  a  large  increase, 
A]id  arts  and  wealth  succeed  (the  secret  spoils  of  peace). 
'Tis  said,  the  Doves  repented,  though  too  late, 
Become  the  smiths  of  their  own  foolish  fate  : 
Nor  did  their  owner  hasten  their  ill  hour  ; 
But,  sunk  in  credit,  they  decreased  in  power : 
Like  snows  in  warmth,  that  mildly  pass  away, 
Dissolving  in  the  silence  of  decay. 

The  Buzzard,  not  content  with  equal  place, 
Invites  the  feather'd  Nimrods  of  his  race  ; 
To  hide  the  thinness  of  their  flock  from  sight, 
And  altogether  make  a  seeming  goodly  flight : 
But  each  have  separate  interests  of  their  own ; 
Two  Czars  are  one  too  many  for  a  throne. 
Nor  can  the  usurper  long  abstain  from  food  ; 
Already  he  has  tasted  Pigeons'  blood  : 
And  may  be  tempted  to  his  former  fare. 
When  this  indulgent  lord  shall  late  to  heaven  repair. 
Bare-benting  times,  and  moulting  months  may  c'ome, 
When,  lagging  late,  they  cannot  reach  their  home  ; 
Or  rent  in  schism  (for  so  their  fate  decrees) 
Like  the  tumultuous  college  of  the  bees. 
They  fight  their  quarrel,  by  themselves  oppress'd  ; 
The  tyrant  smiles  below,  and  waits  the  falling  feast.' 

Thus  did  the  gentle  Hind  her  fable  end. 
Nor  would  the  Panther  blame  it,  nor  commend, 
But,  with  afiected  yawnings  at  the  close, 
Seem'd  to  require  her  natural  repose  : 
For  now  the  streaky  light  began  to  peep, 
And  setting  stars  admonish'd  both  to  sleep ; 
The  dame  withdrew,  and,  wishing  to  her  guest 
The  peace  of  Heaven,  betook  herself  to  rest. 

Ten  thousand  angels  on  her  slumbers  wait, 
With  glorious  visions  of  her  future  state  ! 


231 

BEITANNIA  REDIYIVA; 

A  POEM  ON  THE  BIRTH  OF  JAMES  PRINCE  OF  WALES, 

•  (thb  pretender.) 

Our  vows  are  heard  betimes  !  and  Heaven  takes  care 
To  grant,  before  we  can  conclude  the  prayer : 
Preventing  angels  met  it  half  the  way, 
And  sent  us  back  to  praise,  who  came  to  pray. 

Just  on  the  day,  when  the  high-mounted  sun 
Did  farthest  in  his  northern  progress  run. 
He  bended  forward,  and  ev'n  stretch'd  the  sphere 
Beyond  the  Hmits  of  the  lengthened  year, 
To  view  a  brighter  sun  in  Britain  born ; 
That  was  the  business  of  his  longest  mom  ; 
The  glorious  object  seen,  'twas  time  to  turn. 

Departing  Spring  could  only  stay  to  shed 
Her  bloomy  beauties  on  the  genial  bed, 
But  left  the  manly  Summer  in  her  stead, 
With  timely  fruit  the  longing  land  to  cheer, 
And  to  fulfil  the  promise  of  the  year. 
Betwixt  two  seasons  comes  the  auspicious  heir, 
This  age  to  blossom,  and  the  next  to  bear. 

Last  solemn  sabbath  saw  the  Church  attend ; 
The  Paraclete  in  fiery  pomp  descend  ; 
But  when  his  wondrous  octave  roU'd  again, 
He  brought  a  royal  infant  in  his  train. 
So  great  a  blessing  to  so  good  a  king, 
None  but  the  Eternal  Comforter  could  bring. 

Or  did  the  mighty  Trinity  conspire, 
As  once,  in  council  to  create  our  sire  ? 
It  seems  as  if  they  sent  the  new-bom  guest 
To  wait  on  the  procession  of  their  feast ; 
And  on  their  sacred  anniverse  decreed 
To  stamp  their  image  on  the  promised  seed. 
Three  realms  united,  and  on  one  bestow'd, 
An  emblem  of  their  mystic  union  show'd  : 
The  Mighty  Trine  the  triple  empire  shared, 
As  every  person  would  have  one  to  guard. 

Hail,  son  of  prayers  !  by  holy  violence 
Drawn  down  from  Heaven  ;  but  long  be  banish*d  thence^ 
And  late  to  thy  paternal  skies  retire  : 
To  mend  our  crimes  whole  ages  would  require  ; 


232  BRITANNIA  REDIVrVA. 

To  change  the  inveterate  habit  of  our  sins, 
And  finish  what  thy  godlike  sire  begins. 
Kind  Heaven,  to  make  us  Englishmen  again, 
No  less  can  give  us  than  a  patriarch's  reign. 

The  sacred  cradle  to  your  charge  receive,    • 
Ye  seraphs,  and  by  turns  the  guard  relieve ; 
Thy  father's  angel,  and  thy  father  join. 
To  keep  possession,  and  secure  the  line  ; 
But  long  defer  the  honours  of  thy  fate  : 
Great  may  they  be  like  his,  like  his  be  late  ; 
That  James  this  running  century  may  view, 
And  give  his  son  an  auspice  to  the  new. 

Our  wants  exact  at  least  that  moderate  stay : 
For  see  the  Dragon  winged  on  his  way, 
To  watch  the  travail,  and  devour  the  prey. 
Or,  if  allusions  may  not  rise  so  high. 
Thus,  when  Abides  raised  his  infant-cry, 
The  snakes  besieged  his  young  divinity  : 
But  vainly  with  their  forked  tongues  they  threat ; 
For  opposition  makes  a  hero  great. 
To  needful  succour  all  the  good  will  run, 
And  Jove  assert  the  godhead  of  his  son. 

Oh  still  repining  at  your  present  state, 
Grudging  yourselves  the  benefits  of  fate, 
Look  up,  and  read  in  characters  of  light 
A  blessing  sent  you  in  your  own  despite. 
The  manna  falls,  yet  that  celestial  bread 
Like  Jews,  you  munch,  and  murmur  while  you  feed. 
May  not  your  fortune  be  like  their's,  exiled. 
Yet  forty  years  to  wander  iii  the  wild  : 
Or  if  it  be  may  Moses  live  at  least. 
To  lead  you  to  the  verge  of  promised  rest. 

Though  poets  are  not  prophets,  to  foreknow 
What  plants  will  take  the  blight,  and  what  will  grow, 
By  tracing  Heaven  his  footsteps  may  be  found : 
Behold  !  how  awfully  he  walks  the  round  ! 
God  is  abroad,  and,  wondrous  in  his  ways. 
The  rise  of  empires,  and  their  fall  surveys  ; 
More  (might  I  say)  than  with  an  usual  eye, 
He  sees  his  bleeding  Church  in  ruin  lie. 
And  hears  the  souls  of  saints  beneath  his  altar  cry. 
Already  has  he  lifted  high  the  sign,* 
Which  crown'd  the  conquering  arms  of  Constantine : 

♦  The  cross. 


BRITANNIA  REDIVIVA.  233 

The  moon*  grows  pale  at  that  presaging  sight, 
And  half  her  train  of  stars  have  lost  their  light. 

Behold  another  Sylvester,  f  to  bless 
The  sacred  standard,  and  secure  success  ; 
Large  of  his  treasures,  of  a  soul  so  great, 
As  fills  and  crowds  his  universal  seat. 
Now  view  at  home  a  second  Constantino  ;  { 
(The  former  too  was  of  the  British  line  §  ) 
Has  not  his  healing  balm  your  breaches  closed 
Whose  exile  many  sought,  and  few  opposed  1 
Or,  did  not  Heaven  by  its  eternal  doom 
Permit  those  evils,  that  this  good  might  come  ? 
So  manifest,  that  e'en  the  moon-eyed  sects 
See  whom  and  what  this  Providence  protects. 
Methinks,  had  we  within  our  minds  no  more 
Than  that  one  shipwreck  on  the  fatal  ore, 
That  only  thought  may  make  us  think  again, 
What  wonders  God  reserves  for  such  a  reign. 
To  dream  that  chance  his  preservation  wrought. 
Were  to  think  Noah  w£is  preserved  for  nought ; 
Or  the  surviving  eight  were  not  designed 
To  people  earth,  and  to  restore  their  kind. 

When  humbly  on  the  royal  babe  we  gaze. 
The  manly  lines  of  a  majestic  face 
Give  awful  joy :  'tis  paradise  to  look 
On  the  fair  frontispiece  of  Nature's  book  : 
If  the  first  opening  page  so  charms  the  sight, 
Think  how  the  unfolded  volume  will  delight ! 
See  how  the  venerated  infant  lies 
In  early  pomp  ;  how  through  the  mother's  eyes 
The  father's  soul,  with  an  undaunted  view, 
Looks  out,  and  takes  our  homage  as  his  due. 
See  on  his  future  subjects  how  he  smiles. 
Nor  meanly  flatters,  nor  with  craft  beguiles ; 
But  with  an  open  face,  as  on  his  throne. 
Assures  our  birthrights,  and  assumes  his  own. 

Born  in  broad  day-light,  that  the  ungrateful  rout 
May  find  no  room  for  a  remaining  doubt ; 
Truth,  which  itself  is  light,  does  darkness  shun, 
And  the  true  eaglet  safely  dares  the  sun.  ^ 

*  The  crescent  which  the  Turks  bear  for  their  arms. 
t  The  Pope  in  the  time  of  Constantine  the  Great. 
J  King  James  the  Second. 

i  St.  Helen,  mother  of  Constantine  the  Great,  was  an  Englishvomaa 
22 


234  BRITANNIA  REDIVTVA. 

Fain  would  the  fiends  have  made  a  dubious  birth, 
Loth  to  confess  the  godhead  clothed  in  earth : 
But  sicken'd,  after  all  their  baffled  hes, 
To  find  an  heir-apparent  of  the  skies  : 
Abandoned  to  despair,  still  may  they  grudge, 
And,  owning  not  the  Saviour,  prove  the  judge. 

Not  great  ^neas  stood  in  plainer  day, 
When,  the  dark  mantling  mist  dissolved  away, 
He  to  the  Tyrians  show'd  his  sudden  face. 
Shining  with  all  his  goddess-mother's  grace  : 
For  she  herself  had  made  his  countenance  bright, 
Breathed  honour  on  his  eyes,  and  her  own  purple  light. 

If  our  victorious  Edward,*  as  they  say. 
Gave  Wales  a  prince  on  that  propitious  day, 
Why  may  not  years  revolving  with  his  fate 
Produce  his  like,  but  with  a  longer  date  ? 
One,  who  may  carry  to  a  distant  shore 
The  terror  that  his  famed  forefather  bore. 
But  why  should  James  or  his  young  hero  stay 
For  shght  presages  of  a  name  or  day  ? 
We  need  no  Edward's  fortune  to  adorn 
That  happy  moment  when  our  prince  was  bom : 
Our  prince  adorns  his  day,  and  ages  hence 
Shall  wish  his  birth-day  for  some  future  prince. 

Great  Michael,  prince  of  all  the  ethereal  hosts, 
And  whate'er  inborn  saints  our  Britain  boasts ; 
And  thou,f  the  adopted  patron  of  our  isle, 
With  cheerful  aspects  on  this  infant  smile  : 
The  pledge  of  Heaven,  which,  dropping  from  above, 
Secures  our  bliss,  and  reconciles  his  love. 

Enough  of  ills  our  dire  rebellion  wrought, 
When,  to  the  dregs,  we  drank  the  bitter  draught ; 
Then  airy  atoms  did  in  plagues  conspire, 
Nor  did  the  avenging  angel  yet  retire. 
But  purged  our  stiU  increasing  crimes  with  fire. 
Then  perjured  Plots,  the  stiU  impending  Test, 
And  worse — but  charity  conceals  the  rest : 
Here  stop  the  current  of  the  sanguine  flood  ; 
Require  not,  gracious  God,  thy  martyrs'  blood ; 
But  let  their  dying  pangs,  their  living  toil. 
Spread  a  rich  harvest  through  their  native  soil : 

*  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  born  on  Trinity  Sunday. 
t  St.  George. 


BRITANNIA  REDIVIVA.  235 

A  harvest  ripening  for  another  reign, 

Of  which  this  royal  babe  may  reap  the  grain. 

Enough  of  early  saints  one  womb  has  giv^i ; 
Enough  increased  the  family  of  heaven  : 
Let  them  for  his  and  our  atonement  go  ; 
And  reigning  blest  above,  leave  him  to  rule  below. 

Enough  already  has  the  year  foreslow'd 
His  wonted  course,  the  sea  has  overflow'd. 
The  meads  were  floated  with  a  weeping  spring, 
And  frighten'd  birds  in  woods  forgot  to  sing : 
The  strong-limb'd  steed  beneath  his  harness  faints, 
And  the  same  shivering  sweat  his  lord  attaints. 
When  will  the  minister  of  wrath  give  o'er  ] 
Behold  him,  at  Araunah's  threshing-floor : 
He  stops,  and  seems  to  sheath©  his  flaming  brand, 
Pleased  with  burnt  incense  from  our  David's  hand, 
David  has  bought  the  Jebusite's  abode, 
And  raised  an  altar  to  the  living  God. 

Heaven,  to  reward  him,  makes  his  joys  sincere  ; 
No  future  ills  nor  accidents  appear, 
To  sully  and  pollute  the  sacred  infant's  year. 
Fi  ve  months  to  discord  and  debate  were  given : 
He  sanctifies  the  yet  remaining  seven. 
Sabbath  of  months  !  henceforth  in  him  be  blest, 
And  prelude  to  the  realms  perpetual  rest ! 

Let  his  baptismal  drops  for  us  atone  ; 
Lustrations  for  ofi*ences  not  his  own.  - 
Let  Conscience,  which  is  Interest  ill  disguised. 
In  the  same  font  be  cleansed,  and  all  the  land  baptized. 

Unnamed  as  yet ;  at  least  unknown  to  fame  : 
Is  there  a  strife  in  heaven  about  his  name  ? 
Where  every  famous  predecessor  vies. 
And  makes  a  faction  for  it  in  the  skies  1 
Or  must  it  be  reserved  to  thought  alone  ? 
Such  was  the  sacred  Tetragrammaton. 
Things  worthy  silence  must  not  be  reveal'd : 
Thus  the  true  name  of  Rome  was  kept  conccai'd, 
To  shun  the  spells  and  sorceries  of  those 
Who  durst  her  infant  Majesty  oppose. 
But  when  his  tender  strength  in  time  shall  rise 
To  dare  ill  tongues,  and  fascinating  eyes ; 
This  isle,  which  hides  the  Uttle  thunderer's  fame. 
Shall  be  too  narrow  to  contain  his  name : 


236  BRITANNIA  REDIVIVA. 

The  artillery  of  heaven  shall  make  him  known ; 
Crete  could  not  hold  the  god,  when  Jove  was  grown. 

As  Jove's  increase,  who  from  his  brain  was  born, 
Whom  arms  and  arts  did  equally  adorr^, 
Free  of  the  breast  was  bred,  whose  milky  taste 
Minerva's  name  to  Venus  had  debased; 
So  this  imperial  babe  rejects  the  food 
That  mixes  monarch's  with  plebeian  blood : 
Food  that  his  inborn  courage  might  control, 
Extinguish  all  the  father  in  his  soul, 
And,  for  his  Estian  race,  and  Saxon  strain, 
Might  reproduce  some  second  Richard's  reign. 
Mildness  he  shares  from  both  his  parents'  blood : 
But  kings  too  tame  are  despicably  good : 
Be  this  the  mixture  of  this  regal  child, 
By  nature  manly,  but  by  virtue  mild. 

Thus  far  the  furious  transport  of  the  news 
Had  to  prophetic  madness  fired  the  Muse  ; 
Madness  ungovernable,  uninspired, 
Swift  to  foretel  whatever  she  desired. 
Was  it  for  me  the  dark  abyss  to  tread, 
And  read  the  book  which  angels  cannot  read  ? 
How  was  I  punish'd,  when  the  sudden  blast, 
The  face  of  heaven,  and  our  young  sun  o'ercast ! 
Fame,  the  swift  ill,  increasing  as  she  roU'd, 
Disease,  despair,  and  death,  at  three  reprises  told : 
At  three  insulting  strides  she  stalk'd  the  town. 
And,  like  contagion,  struck  the  loyal  down. 
Down  fell  the  winnow'd  wheat ;  but  mounted  high, 
The  whirlwind  bore  the  chaff,  and  hid  the  sky. 
Here  black  rebellion  shooting  from  below, 
(As  earth's  gigantic  brood  by  moments  grow) 
And  here  the  sons  of  God  are  petrified  with  woe  : 
An  apoplex  of  grief :  so  low  were  driven 
The  saints,  as  hardly  to  defend  their  heaven. 

As,  when  pent  vapours  run  their  hollow  round, 
Earthquakes,  which  are  convulsions  of  the  ground,^ 
Break  bellowing  forth,  and  no  confinement  brook, 
Till  the  third  settles  what  the  former  shook  ; 
Such  heavings  had  our  souls  ;  till,  slow  and  late, 
Our  life  with  his  retum'd,  and  faith  prevail'd  on  fate. 
By  prayers  the  mighty  blessing  was  implored, 
To  prayers  was  granted,  and  by  prayers  restored. 


BRITANNIA  REDIVIVA.  237 

So  ere  the  Shunamite  a  son  conceived, 
The  prophet  promised,  and  the  wife  believed. 
A  son  was  sent,  the  son  so  much  desired ; 
But  soon  upon  the  mother's  knees  expired. 
The  troubled  seer  approach'd  the  mournful  door, 
Ran,  pray'd,  and  sent  his  pastoral  staff  before, 
Then  stretched  his  limbs  upon  the  child,  and  mourn'd, 
'Till  warmth,  and  breath,  and  a  new  soul  return'd. 

Thus  Mercy  stretches  out  her  hand,  and  saves 
Desponding  Peter  sinking  in  the  waves. 

As  when  a  sudden  storm  of  hail  and  rain 
Beats  to  the  ground  the  yet  unbearded  grain, 
Think  not  the  hopes  of  harvest  are  destroy  d 
On  the  flat  field,  and  on  the  naked  void ; 
The  light,  unloaded  stem,  from  tempest  freed. 
Will  raise  the  youthful  honours  of  his  head  ; 
And,  soon  restored  by  native  vigour,  bear 
The  timely  product  of  the  bounteous  year. 

Nor  yet  conclude  all  fiery  trials  past : 
For  Heaven  will  exercise  us  to  the  last ; 
Sometimes  will  check  us  in  our  full  career. 
With  doubtful  blessings,  and  with  mingled  fear; 
That,  still  depending  on  his  daily  grace, 
His  every  mercy  for  an  alms  may  pass  ; 
With  sparing  hands  will  diet  us  to  good. 
Preventing  surfeits  of  our  pamper'd  blood. 
So  feeds  the  mother-bird  her  craving  young 
With  little  morsels,  and  delays  them  long. 

True,  this  last  blessing  was  a  royal  feast ; 
But,  where  's  the  wedding-garment  on  the  guest  ? 
Our  manners,  as  rehgion  were  a  dream, 
Are  such  as  teach  the  nations  to  blaspheme. 
In  lusts  we  wallow,  and  with  pride  we  swell, 
And  injuries  with  injuries  repel ; 
Prompt  to  revenge,  not  daring  to  forgive, 
Our  lives  unteach  the  doctrine  we  believe. 
Thus  Israel  sinn'd,  impenitently  hard. 
And  vainly  thought  the  present  ark  their  guard ; 
But  when  the  haughty  Philistines  appear. 
They  fled,  abandon'd  to  their  foes  and  fear ; 
Their  God  was  absent,  though  his  ark  was  there. 
Ah  !  lest  our  crimes  should  snatch  this  pledge  away, 
And  make  our  joys  the  blessings  of  a  day ! 
22* 


238  BRITANNIA  REDIVIVA. 

For  we  have  sinn'd  him  hence,  and  that  he  lives, 

God  to  his  promise,  not  our  practice  gives. 

Our  crimes  would  soon  weigh  down  the  guilty  scale, 

But  James,  and  Mary,  and  the  Church  prevail. 

Nor  Amalek  can  rout  the  chosen  bands. 

While  Hur  and  Aaron  hold  up  Moses'  hands. 

By  living  well,  let  us  secure  his  days, 
Moderate  in  hopes,  and  humble  in  our  ways. 
No  force  the  free-born  spirit  can  constrain, 
But  charity,  and  great  examples  gain. 
Forgiveness  is  our  thanks  for  such  a  day, 
'Tis  god-like,  God  in  his  own  coin  to  pay. 

But  you,  propitious  queen,  translated  here. 
From  your  mild  heaven,  to  rule  our  rugged  sphere, 
Beyond  the  sunny  walks,  and  circling  year : 
You,  who  your  native  climate  have  bereft 
Of  all  the  virtues,  and  the  vices  left ; 
Whom  piety  and  beauty  make  their  boast, 
Though  beautiful  is  well  in  pious  lost ; 
So  lost,  as  star-light  is  dissolved  away. 
And  melts  into  the  brightness  of  the  day ; 
Or  gold  about  the  regal  diadem. 
Lost  to  improve  the  lustre  of  the  gem. 
What  can  we  add  to  your  triumphant  day  ? 
Let  the  great  gift  the  beauteous  giver  pay. 
For  should  our  thanks  awake  the  rising  sun, 
And  lengthen,  as  his  latest  shadows  run, 
That,  tho'  the  longest  day,  would  soon,  too  soon  be  done. 
Let  angels'  voices  with  their  harps  conspire. 
But  keep  the  auspicious  infant  from  the  choir ; 
Late  let  him  sing  above,  and  let  us  know 
No  sweeter  music  than  his  cries  below. 

Nor  can  I  wish  to  you,  great  monarch,  more 
Than  such  an  annual  income  to  your  store  ; 
The  day  which  gave  this  Unit,  did  not  shine 
For  a  less  omen,  than  to  fiU  the  Trine. 
After  a  Prince,  an  Admiral  beget ; 
The  Royal  Sovereign  wants  an  anchor  yet. 
Our  isle  has  younger  titles  stiU  in  store, 
And  when  the  exhausted  land  can  yield  no  more, 
Your  Hne  can  force  them  from  a  foreign  shore. 

The  name  of  Great  your  martial  mind  will  suit ; 
But  justice  is  your  darhng  attribute : 


BRITANNIA  REDI^^VA.  239 

Of  all  the  Greeks,  'twas  but  one  hero's  due, 
And,  in  him,  Plutarch  prophesied  of  you. 
A  prince's  favours  but  on  few  can  fall, 
But  justice  is  a  virtue  shared  by  all. 

Some  kings  the  name  of  conquerors  have  assumed, 
Some  to  be  great,  some  to  be  gods  presumed ; 
But  boundless  power,  and  arbitrary  lust, 
•  Made  tyrants  still  abhor  the  name  of  just ; 
They  shunn'd  the  praise  this  god-like  virtue  gives, 
And  fear'd  a  title  that  reproach'd  their  lives. 

The  power,  from  which  all  kings  derive  their- state, 
Whom  they  pretend,  at  least,  to  imitate. 
Is  equal  both  to  punish  and  reward ; 
For  few  would  love  their  God,  unless  they  fear'd. 

Resistless  force  and  immortality 
Make  but  a  lame,  imperfect,  deity  ; 
Tempests  have  force  unbounded  to  destroy. 
And  deathless  being  even  the  damn'd  enjoy ; 
And  yet  Heaven's  attributes,  both  last  and  first, 
One  without  life,  and  one  with  hfe  accurst : 
But  justice  is  Heaven's  self,  so  strictly  he. 
That,  could  it  fail,  the  Godhead  could  not  be. 
This  virtue  is  your  own  ;  but  life  and  state 
Are  one  to  fortune  subject,  one  to  fate  : 
Equal  to  all,  you  justly  frown  or  smile  ; 
Nor  hopes  nor  fears  your  steady  hand  beguile ; 
Yourself  our  balance  hold,  the  world's,  our  isleu 


240 


EPISTLES. 


TO  MY  FEIEND  MR.  J.  NORTHLEIGH, 

AUTHOR  OF  ^  THE  PARALLEL,' 
ON  HIS  '  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  BRITISH  MONARCHY.* 

So  Joseph,  yet  a  youth,  expounded  well 
The  boding  dream,  and  did  th'  event  foretell ; 
Judged  by  the  past,  and  drew  the  Parallel. 
Thus  early  Solomon  the  truth  explored, 
The  right  awarded,  and  the  babe  restored. 
Thus  Daniel,  ere  to  prophecy  he  grew. 
The  perjured  Presbyters  did  first  subdue. 
And  freed  Susanna  from  the  canting  crew. 
Well  may  our  Monarchy  triumphant  stand. 
While  warlike  James  protects  both  sea  and  land ; 
And,  under  covert  of  his  seven-fold  shield, 
Thou  send'st  thy  shafts  to  scour  the  distant  field. 
By  law  thy  powerful  pen  has  set  us  free  ; 
Thou  studiest  that,  and  that  may  study  thee. 


TO   MY  HONOURED  FRIEND, 

SIR    ROBERT    HOWARD, 

ON  HIS  EXCELLENT  POEMS. 

As  there  is  music  uninform'd  by  art 
In  those  wild  notes,  which,  with  a  merry  heart, 
The  birds  in  unfrequented  shades  express. 
Who,  better  taught  at  home,  yet  please  us  less : 
So  in  your  verse  a  native  sweetness  dwells. 
Which  shames  composure,  and  its  art  excels. 
Singing  no  more  can  your  soft  numbers  grace, 
Than  paint  add  charms  unto  a  beauteous  face. 
Yet  as,  when  mighty  rivers  gently  creep. 
Their  even  calmness  does  suppose  them  deep ; 
Such  is  your  muse  :  no  metaphor  swell'd  high 
With  dangerous  boldness  lifts  her  to  the  sky : 


241 


Those  mounting  fancies,  when  they  fall  again, 

Show  sand  and  dirt  at  bottom  do  remain. 

So  firm  a  strength,  and  yet  withal  so  sweet, 

Did  never  but  in  Samson's  riddle  meet. 

'Tis  strange  each  line  so  great  a  weight  should  bear, 

And  yet  no  sign  of  toil,  no  sweat  appear. 

Either  your  art  hides  art,  as  stoics  feign 

Then  least  to  feel,  when  most  they  suSer  pain ; 

And  we,  dull  souls,  admire,  but  cannot  see 

What  hidden  springs  within  the  engine  be  ; 

Or  'tis  some  happiness  that  still  pursues 

Each  act  and  motion  of  your  graceful  muse. 

Or  is  it  fortune's  work,  that  in  your  head 

The  curious  net  that  is  for  fancies  spread, 

Lets  through  its  meshes  every  meaner  thought. 

While  rich  ideas  there  are  only  caught  ? 

Sure  that's  not  all ;  this  is  a  piece  too  fair 

To  be  the  child  of  chance,  and  not  of  care. 

No  atoms  casually  together  hurl'd 

Could  e'er  produce  so  beautiful  a  world. 

Nor  dare  I  such  a  doctrine  here  admit, 

As  would  destroy  the  providence  of  wit. 

'Tis  your  strong  genius  then  which  does  not  feel 

Those  weights,  would  make  a  weaker  spirit  reeL 

To  carry  weight,  and  run  so  lightly  too, 

Is  what  alone  your  Pegasus  can  do. 

Great  Hercules  himself  could  ne'er  do  more. 

Than  not  to  feel  those  heavens  and  gods  he  bore. 

Your  easier  odes,  which  for  delight  were  penn'd, 

Yet  our  instruction  make  their  second  end : 

We're  both  enrich'd  and  pleased,  like  them  that  woo 

At  once  a  beauty,  and  a  fortune  too. 

Of  moral  knowledge  poesy  was  queen. 

And  stiU  she  might,  had  wanton  wits  not  been  ; 

Who,  like  ill  guardians,  lived  themselves  at  large. 

And,  not  content  with  that,  debauch'd  their  charge. 

Like  some  brave  captain,  your  successful  pen 

Restores  the  exiled  to  her  crown  again : 

And  gives  us  hope,  that  having  seen  the  days 

When  nothing  flourish'd  but  fanatic  bays, 

All  will  at  length  in  this  opinion  rest, 

"  A  sober  prince's  government  is  best." 

This  is  not  all ;  your  art  the  way  has  found 

To  make  the  improvement  of  the  richest  ground, 


242  EPISTLES. 

That  soil  which  those  immortal  laurels  bore^ 

That  once  the  sacred  Maro's  temples  wore. 

Elissa's  griefs  are  so  express'd  by  you, 

They  are  too  eloquent  to  have  been  true. 

Had  she  so  spoke,  ^neas  had  obey'd 

What  Dido,  rather  than  what  Jove  had  said. 

If  funeral  rites  can  give  a  ghost  repose. 

Your  muse  so  justly  has  discharged  those, 

Elissa's  shade  may  now  its  wand'ring  cease, 

And  claim  a  title  to  the  fields  of  peace. 

But  if  ^neas  be  obliged,  no  less 

Your  kindness  great  Achilles  doth  confess  ; 

Who,  dress'd  by  Statins  in  too  bold  a  look, 

Did  ill  become  those  virgin  robes  he  took. 

Tx)  understand  how  much  we  owe  to  you. 

We  must  your  numbers,  with  your  author's  view : 

Then  we  shall  see  his  work  was  lamely  rough, 

Each  figure  stifif,  as  if  design'd  in  bufi" : 

His  colours  laid  so  thick  on  every  place, 

As  only  show'd  the  paint,  but  hid  the  face. 

But  as  in  perspective  we  beauties  see. 

Which  in  the  glass,  not  in  the  picture,  be ; 

So  here  our  sight  obligingly  mistakes 

That  wealth,  which  his  your  bounty  only  makes. 

Thus  vulgar  dishes  are,  by  cooks  disguised. 

More  for  their  dressing,  than  their  substance  prized. 

Your  curious  notes  so  search  into  that  age, 

When  all  was  fable  but  the  sacred  page. 

That,  since  in  that  dark  night  we  needs  must  stray. 

We  are  at  least  misled  in  pleasant  way. 

But  what  we  most  admire,  your  verse  no  less 

The  prophet  than  the  poet  doth  confess. 

Ere  our  weak  eyes  discern'd  the  doubtful  streak 

Of  light,  you  saw  great  Charles  his  morning  break  : 

So  skilful  seamen  ken  the  land  from  far, 

Which  shows  like  mists  to  the  dull  passenger. 

To  Charles  your  muse  first  pays  her  duteous  love, 

As  still  the  ancients  did  begin  from  Jove, 

With  Monk  you  end,  whose  name  preserved  shall  be^ 

As  Rome  recorded  Rufus'  memory. 

Who  thought  it  greater  honour  to  obey 

His  country's  interest,  than  the  world  to  sway. 

But  to  write  worthy  things  of  worthy  men, 

Is  the  peculiar  talent  of  your  pen : 


EPISTLES. 

Yet  let  me  take  your  mantle  up,  and  I 

Will  venture  in  your  right  to  prophesy. 

**  This  work,  by  merit  first  of  fame  secure. 

Is  likewise  happy  in  its  geniture  : 

For,  since  'tis  born  when  Charles  ascends  the  throne, 

It  shares  at  once  his  fortune  and  its  own." 


TO  ^rS"  HONOURED  FRIEND, 

DE.  CHARLETON, 

ON  HIS  LEARNED  AND  USEFUL  WORKS;  BUT  MORE  PARTICULARLT 
HIS  TREATISE  OF  STONEHENGE. 

The  longest  tyranny  that  ever  sway'd. 
Was  that  wherein  our  ancestors  betray'd 
Their  free-born  reason  to  the  Stagirite, 
And  made  his  torch  their  universal  light. 
So  truth,  while  only  one  supphed  the  state, 
Grew  scarce,  and  dear,  and  yet  sophisticate. 
StiU  it  was  bought,  (like  emp'ric  wares,  or  charms,) 
Hard  words  seal'd  up  with  Aristotle's  arms. 
Columbus  was  the  first  that  shook  his  throne, 
And  found  a  temperate  in  a  torrid  zone  : 
The  feverish  air  fann'd  by  a  coohng  breeze, 
The  fruitful  vales  set  round  with  shady  trees  ; 
And  guiltless  men,  who  danced  away  their  time. 
Fresh  as  their  groves,  and  happy  as  their  clime. 
Had  we  still  paid  that  homage  to  a  name, 
Which  only  God  and  nature  justly  claim  ; 
The  western  seas  had  been  our  utmost  bound. 
Where  poets  stiU  might  dream  the  sun  was  drown'd 
And  all  the  stars  that  shine  in  southern  skies, 
Had  been  admired  by  none  but  savage  eyes. 

Among  the  asserters  of  free  reason's  claim. 
Our  nation's  not  the  least  in  worth  or  fame. 
The  world  to  Bacon  does  not  only  owe 
Its  present  knowledge,  but  its  future  too. 
Gilbert  shall  hve,  till  loadstones  cease  to  draw. 
Or  British  fleets  the  boundless  ocean  awe  ; 
And  noble  Boyle,  not  less  in  nature  seen, 
Than  his  great  brother  read  in  states  and  men. 


244  EPISTLES. 

The  circling  streams,  once  thought  but  pools,  of  blood 
(Whether  life's  fuel,  or  the  body's  food) 
From  dark  oblivion  Harvey's  name  shall  save  ; 
While  Ent  keeps  aU  the  honour  that  he  gave. 
Nor  are  you,  learned  friend,  the  least  renown'd  ; 
Whose  fame,  not  circumscribed  with  English  groimd, 
Fhes  like  the  nimble  journeys  of  the  light ; 
And  is,  like  that,  unspent  too  in  its  flight. 
Whatever  truths  have  been,  by  art  or  chance, 
Kedeem'd  from  error,  or  from  ignorance, 
Thin  in  their  authors,  like  rich  veins  of  ore, 
Your  works  unite,  and  still  discover  more. 
Such  is  the  healing  virtue  of  your  pen, 
To  perfect  cures  on  books,  as  weU  as  men. 
Nor  is  this  work  the  least :  you  well  may  give 
To  men  new  vigour,  who  make  stones  to  live. 
Through  you,  the  Danes,  their  short  dominion  lost, 
A  longer  conquest  than  the  Saxons  boast. 
Stonehenge,  once  thought  a  temple,  you  have  found 
A  throne,  where  kings,  our  earthly  gods,  were  crown'd ; 
Where  by  their  wond'ring  subjects  they  were  seen, 
Joy'd  with  their  stature,  and  their  princely  mien. 
Our  sovereign  here  above  the  rest  might  stand. 
And  here  be  chose  again  to  rule  the  land. 

These  ruins  shelter'd  once  his  sacred  head, 
When  he  from  Wor'ster's  fatal  battle  fled  ; 
Watch'd  by  the  genius  of  this  royal  place. 
And  mighty  visions  of  the  Danish  race. 
His  refuge  then  was  for  a  temple  shown : 
But,  he  restored,  'tis  now  become  a  throne. 


TO  THE  LADY  CASTLEMAIN 

(afterwards  duchess  of  CLEVELAND,) 

UPON    HER    ENCOURAGING    HIS    FIRST   PLAY,    CALLED   *  THS    WILD 

GALLANT,' 

As  seamen,  shipwrecked  on  some  happy  shore. 
Discover  wealth  in  lands  imknown  before  ; 
And,  what  their  art  had  laboured  long  in  vai», 
By  their  misfortunes  happily  obtain : 


EPISTLES.  245 

So  my  much-envied  muse,  by  storms  long  toss'd, 
Is  thrown  upon  your  hospitable  coast, 
And  finds  more  favour  by  her  ill  success, 
Than  she  could  hope  for  by  her  happiness. 
Once  Gate's  virtue  did  the  gods  oppose ; 
While  they  the  victor,  he  the  vanquish'd  chose : 
But  you  have  done  what  Cato  could  not  do, 
To  choose  the  vanquish'd,  and  restore  him  too. 
Let  others  still  triumph,  and  gain  their  cause 
By  their  deserts,  or  by  the  world's  applause ; 
Let  merit  crowns,  and  justice  laurels  give, 
But  let  me  happy  by  your  pity  live. 
True  poets  empty  fame  and  praise  despise. 
Fame  is  the  trumpet,  but  your  smile  the  prize. 
You  sit  above,  and  see  vain  men  below 
Contend  for  what  you  only  can  bestow : 
But  those  great  actions  others  do  by  chance, 
Are,  like  your  beauty,  your  inheritance : 
So  great  a  soul,  such  sweetness  join'd  in  one, 
Could  only  spring  from  noble  Grandison. 
You,  like  the  stars,  not  by  reflection  bright. 
Are  born  to  your  own  heaven,  and  your  own  light ; 
Like  them  are  good,  but  from  a  nobler  cause, 
From  your  own  knowledge,  not  from  nature's  laws. 
Your  power  you  never  use,  but  for  defence. 
To  guard  your  own,  or  others'  innocence : 
Your  foes  are  such,  as  they,  not  you,  have  made, 
And  virtue  may  repel  though  not  invade. 
Such  courage  did  the  ancient  heroes  show, 
Who,  when  they  might  prevent,  would  wait  the  blow ; 
With  such  assurance  as  they  meant  to  say. 
We  will  o'ercome,  but  scorn  the  safest  way. 
What  further  fear  of  danger  can  there  be  ? 
Beauty,  which  captives  aU  things,  sets  me  free. 
Posterity  will  judge  by  my  success, 
I  had  the  Grecian  poet's  happiness, 
Who,  waiving  plots,  found  out  a  better  way ; 
Some  God  descended,  and  preserved  the  play. 
When  first  the  triumphs  of  your  sex  were  sung 
By  those  old  poets,  beauty  was  but  young, 
Aiid  few  admired  the  native  red  and  white. 
Till  poets  dress'd  them  up  to  charm  the  sight; 
So  beauty  took  on  trust,  and  did  engage 
For  sums  of  praises  till  she  came  to  age. 
23 


246  EPISTLES. 

But  this  long-growing  debt  to  poetry 
You  justly,  madam,  have  discharged  to  me, 
When  yoiir  applause  and  favour  did  infaso 
New  life  to  my  condemn'd  and  dying  muse. 


TO  MR.  LEE, 

ON  HIS  TRAGEDY  OP  *  ALEXANDER  THE  GREAT.' 

The  blast  of  common  censure  could  I  fear, 
Before  your  play  my  name  should  not  appear ; 
For  'twill  be  thought,  and  with  some  colour  too, 
I  pay  the  bribe  I  first  received  from  you ; 
That  mutual  vouchei-s  for  our  fame  we  stand. 
And  play  the  game  into  each  other's  hand ; 
And  as  cheap  pen'orths  to  ourselves  afford, 
As  Bessus  and  the  brothers  of  the  sword. 
Such  libels  private  men  may  well  endure. 
When  states  and  kings  themselves  are  not  secure : 
For  ill  men,  conscious  of  their  inward  guilt. 
Think  the  best  actions  on  by-ends  are  built. 
And  yet  my  silence  had  not  'scaped  their  spite ; 
Then,  envy  had  not  suffer'd  me  to  write ; 
For,  since  I  could  not  ignorance  pretend, 
Such  merit  I  must  envy  or  commend. 
So  many  candidates  there  stand  for  wit, 
A  place  at  court  is  scarce  so  hard  to  get : 
In  vain  they  crowd  each  other  at  the  door ; 
For  e'en  reversions  are  all  begg'd  before : 
Desert,  how  known  soe'er,  is  long  delay'd ; 
And  then  too  fools  and  knaves  are  better  paid. 
Yet,  as  some  actions  bear  so  great  a  name, 
That  courts  themselves  are  just,  for  fear  of  shame ; 
So  has  the  mighty  merit  of  your  play 
Extorted  praise,  and  forced  itself  away. 
'Tis  here  as  'tis  at  sea ;  who  farthest  goes. 
Or  dares  the  most,  makes  all  the  rest  his  foes. 
Yet  when  some  virtue  much  outgrows  the  rest, 
It  shoots  too  fast,  and  high,  to  be  express'd ; 
As  his  heroic  worth  struck  envy  dumb. 
Who  took  the  Dutchman,  and  who  cut  the  boom. 


247 


Such  praise  is  your's,  while  you  the  paassions  move. 

That  'tis  no  longer  feign'd,  'tis  real  love, 

Where  nature  triumphs  over  wretched  art ; 

We  only  warm  the  head,  but  you  the  heart. 

Always  you  warm ;  and  if  the  rising  year, 

As  in  hot  regions,  brings  the  sun  too  near, 

Tis  but  to  make  your  fragrant  spices  blow, 

WTiich  in  our  cooler  climates  will  not  grow. 

They  only  think  you  animate  your  theme 

With  too  much  fire^  who  are  themselves  all  phlegm. 

Prizes  would  be  for  lags  of  slowest  pace. 

Were  cripples  made  the  judges  of  the  race. 

Despise  those  drones,  who  praise,  while  they  accuse 

The  too  much  vigour  of  your  youthful  muse. 

That  humble  style  which  they  your  virtue  make. 

Is  in  your  power ;  you  need  but  stoop  and  take. 

Your  beauteous  images  must  be  allow'd 

By  all,  but  some  vile  poets  of  the  crowd. 

But  how  should  any  sign-post  dauber  know 

The  worth  of  Titian  or  of  Angelo  ? 

Hard  features  every  bungler  can  command ; 

To  draw  true  beauty  shows  a  master's  hand. 


TO  THE  EARL  OF  EOSCOIVIMON, 

ON  HIS  ESSA.Y  ON  TRANSLATED  VERSE, 

Whether  the  fruitful  Nile,  or  Tyrian  shore, 

The  seeds  of  arts  and  infant  science  bore, 

'Tis  sure  the  noble  plant,  translated  first, 

Advanced  its  head  in  Grecian  gardens  nursed. 

The  Grecians  added  verse :  their  tuneful  tongue 

Made  nature  first,  and  nature's  God  their  song. 

Nor  stopp'd  translation  here :  for  conqu'ring  Rome, 

With  Grecian  spoils,  brought  Grecian  numbers  home ; 

Enrich  *d  by  those  Athenian  muses  more, 

Than  all  the  vanquish'd  world  could  yield  before. 

'Till  barbarous  nations,  and  more  barbarous  times, 

Debased  the  majesty  of  verse  to  rhymes ; 

Those  rude  at  first,  a  kind  of  hobbling  prose, 

That  limp'd  along,  and  tinkled  in  the  close. 

But  Italy,  reviving  from  the  trance 

Of  Vandal,  Goth,  and  Monkish  ignorance, 


248  EPISTLES. 

With,  pauses,  cadence,  and  well-yowel'd  words, 

And  all  the  graces  a  good  ear  affords. 

Made  rhyme  an  art,  and  Dante's  polish' d  page 

Restored  a  silver,  not  a  golden  age. 

Then  Petrarch  folio w'd,  and  in  him  we  see, 

What  rhyme  improved  in  all  its  height  can  be ; 

At  best  a  pleasing  sound,  and  fair  barbarity. 

The  French  pursued  their  steps ;  and  Britain,  last> 

In  manly  sweetness  all  the  rest  surpassed. 

The  wit  of  Greece,  the  gravity  of  Rome, 

Appear  exalted  in  the  British  loom : 

The  Muse's  empire  is  restored  again, 

In  Charles  his  reign,  and  by  Roscommon's  pen. 

Yet  modestly  he  does  his  work  survey, 

And  calls  a  finish'd  Poem  an  Essay ; 

For  all  the  needful  rules  are  scatter'd  here ; 

Truth  smoothly  told,  and  pleasantly  severe ; 

So  well  is  art  disguised,  for  nature  to  appear. 

l^^.or  need  those  rules  to  give  translation  light : 

His  own  example  is  a  flame  so  bright. 

That  he  who  but  arrives  to  copy  well, 

Unguided  will  advance,  unknowing  will  excel. 

Scarce  his  own  Horace  could  such  rules  ordain, 

Or  his  own  Virgil  sing  a  nobler  strain. 

How  much  in  him  may  rising  Ireland  boast, 

How  much  in  gaining  him  has  Britain  lost ! 

Their  island  in  revenge  has  ours  reclaim' d ; 

The  more  instructed  we,  the  more  we  still  are  shamed. 

'Tis  well  for  us  his  generous  blood  did  flow, 

Derived  from  British  channels  long  ago, 

That  here  his  conqu'ring  ancestors  were  nursed ; 

And  Ireland  but  translated  England  first : 

By  this  reprisal  we  regain  our  right. 

Else  must  th©  two  contending  nations  fight ; 

A  nobler  quarrel  for  his  native  earth. 

Than  what  divided  Greece  for  Homer's  birth. 

To  what  perfection  will  our  tongue  arrive, 

How  will  invention  and  translation  thrive, 

When  authors  nobly  born  will  bear  their  part, 

And  not  disdain  the  inglorious  praise  of  art ! 

Great  generals  thus,  descending  from  command, 

With  their  own  toil  provoke  the  soldier's  hand. 

How  will  sweet  Ovid's  ghost  be  pleased  to  hear 

His  fame  augmented  by  an  English  peer; 


EPISTLES. 

How  he  embellishes  his  Helen's  loves, 

Outdoes  his  softness,  and  his  sense  improves  ? 

When  these  translate,  and  teach  translators  too, 

Nor  firsthng  kid,  nor  any  vulgar  vow. 

Should  at  Apollo's  grateful  altar  stand : 

Roscommon  writes ;  to  that  auspicious  hand. 

Muse,  feed  the  bull  that  spurns  the  yellow  sand. 

Boscommon,  whom  both  court  and  camps  commend, 

True  to  his  prince,  and  faithful  to  his  friend ; 

Roscommon,  first  in  fields  of  honour  known, 

First  in  the  peaceful  triumphs  of  the  gown, 

Who  both  Minerv^as  justly  makes  his  own. 

Now  let  the  few  beloved  by  Jove,  and  they 

Whom  infused  Titan  form'd  of  better  clay, 

On  equal  terms  with  ancient  wit  engage. 

Nor  mighty  Homer  fear,  nor  sacred  Virgil's  page : 

Our  English  palace  opens  wide  in  state ; 

And  without  stooping  they  may  pass  the  gate. 


TO  THE  DUCHESS  OF  YORK, 

ON  HER  RETURN  FROM  SCOTLAND  IN  THE  YEAR  1682. 

When  factious  rage  to  cruel  exile  drove 
The  queen  of  beauty,  and  the  court  of  love. 
The  Muses  droop'd,  with  their  forsaken  arts, 
And  the  sad  Cupids  broke  their  useless  darts : 
Our  fruitful  plains  to  wilds  and  deserts  turn'd, 
Like  Eden's  face,  when  banish'd  man  it  moum'd. 
Love  was  no  more,  when  loyalty  was  gone, 
The  great  supporter  of  his  awful  throne. 
Love  could  no  longer  after  beauty  stay. 
But  wander'd  northward  to  the  verge  of  day, 
As  if  the  sun  and  he  had  lost  their  way. 
But  now  the  illustrious  nymph,  return'd  again. 
Brings  every  grace  triumphant  in  her  train. 
The  wondriiig  Nereids,  though  they  raised  no  storm, 
Foreslow'd  her  passage,  to  behold  her  form : 
Some  cried,  *  A  Venus;'  some,  *  A  Thetis  pass'd;' 
But  this  was  not  so  fair,  nor  that  so  chaste. 
Far  from  her  sight  flew  Faction,  Strife,  and  Pride ; 
And  Envy  did  but  look  on  her,  and  died. 
23* 


250  EPISTLES. 

Whate'er  we  suffer'd  from  our  sullen  fate, 
Her  sight  is  purchased  at  an  easy  rate. 
Three  gloomy  years  against  this  day  were  set ; 
But  this  one  mighty  sum  has  clear'd  the  debt: 
Like  Joseph's  dream,  but  with  a  better  doom, 
The  famine  past,  the  plenty  still  to  come. 
For  her  the  weeping  heavens  become  serene ; 
For  her  the  ground  is  clad  in  cheerful  green : 
For  her  the  nightingales  are  taught  to  sing. 
And  Nature  has  for  her  delay'd  the  spring. 
The  Muse  resumes  her  long-forgotten  lays, 
And  Love  restored  his  ancient  realm  surveys, 
Recals  our  beauties,  and  revives  our  plays ; 
His  waste  dominions  peoples  once  again, 
And  from  her  presence  dates  his  second  reign. 
But  awful  charms  on  her  fair  forehead  sit. 
Dispensing  what  she  never  will  admit : 
Pleasing,  yet  cold,  like  Cynthia's  silver  beam. 
The  people's  wonder,  and  the  poet's  theme. 
Distemper'd  Zeal — Sedition — canker'd  Hate — 
No  more  shall  vex  the  church,  and  tear  the  state : 
No  more  shall  Faction  civil  discords  move. 
Or  only  discords  of  too  tender  love : 
Discord,  Hke  that  of  music's  various  parts ; 
Discord,  that  makes  the  harmony  of  hearts ; 
Discord,  that  only  this  dispute  shall  bring, 
Who  best  shall  love  the  duke,  and  serve  the  king. 


A  LETTER  TO  SIR  GEORGE  ETHEREGE. 

To  you  who  live  in  chill  degree. 
As  map  informs,  of  fifty-three. 
And  do  not  much  for  cold  atone. 
By  bringing  thither  fifty-one, 
Methinks  all  chmes  should  be  alike, 
From  tropic  e'en  to  pole  arctic ; 
Since  you  have  such  a  constitution 
As  no  where  suffers  diminution. 
You  can  be  old  in  grave  debate, 
And  young  in  love-affairs  of  state ; 
And  both  to  wives  and  husbands  show 
The  vigour  of  a  plenipo. 


EFISTLE&  251 

Like  mighty  missioner  you  come 

«  Ad  Partes  Infidelium." 

A  work  of  wondrous  merit  sure, 

So  far  to  go,  so  much  t'  endure ; 

And  all  to  preach  to  German  dame, 

Where  sound  of  Cupid  never  came. 

Less  had  you  done,  had  you  been  sent> 

As  far  as  Drake  or  Pinto  went. 

For  cloves  or  nutmegs  to  the  Line-a, 

Or  e'en  for  oranges  to  China. 

That  had  indeed  been  charity ; 

Where  love-sick  ladies  helpless  lie, 

Chapp'd,  and  for  want  of  Hquor  dry. 

But  you  have  made  your  zeal  appear 

Within  the  circle  of  the  Bear. 

What  region  of  the  earth 's  so  dull, 

That  is  not  of  your  labours  full  1 

Triptolemus  (so  sung  the  Nine) 

Strew'd  plenty  from  his  cart  divine. 

But  'spite  of  all  these  fable-makers. 

He  never  sow'd  on  Almain  acres : 

No,  that  was  left  by  fate's  decree, 

To  be  perform'd  and  sung  by  thee. 

Thou  break' st  through  forms  with  as  much  ease 

As  the  French  king  through  articles. 

In  grand  affairs  thy  days  are  spent. 

In  waging  weighty  compliment, 

With  such  as  monarchs  represent. 

They,  whom  such  vast  fatigues  attend. 

Want  some  soft  minutes  to  unbend, 

To  show  the  world  that  now  and  then 

Great  ministers  are  mortal  men. 

Then  Khenish  rummers  walk  the  roimd ; 

In  bumpers  every  king  is  crown' d ; 

Besides  three  holy  mitred  Hectors, 

And  the  whole  college  of  Electors. 

No  health  of  potentate  is  sunk. 

That  pays  to  make  his  envoy  drunk. 

These  Dutch  delights,  I  mention'd  last> 

Suit  not,  I  know,  your  Enghsh  taste : 

For  wine  to  leave  a  whore  or  play 

Was  ne'er  your  Excellency's  way. 

Nor  need  this  title  give  offence, 

For  here  you  were — ^your  Excellence, 


252  EPISTLES. 

For  gaming,  writing,  speaking,  keeping^ 
His  Excellence  for  all  but  sleeping. 
Now  if  you  tope  in  form,  and  treat, 
'Tis  the  sour  sauce  to  the  sweet  meat, 
Tne  fine  you  pay  for  being  great. 
Nay,  here  's  a  harder  imposition, 
Which  is  indeed  the  court's  petition, 
That  setting  worldly  pomp  aside, 
Which  poet  has  at  font  denied, 
You  would  be  please.d  in  humble  way 
To  write  a  trifle  call'd  a  Play. 
This  truly  is  a  degradation. 
But  would  oblige  the  crown  and  nation 
Next  to  your  wise  negotiation. 
If  you  pretend,  as  well  you  may. 
Your  high  degree,  your  friends  will  say, 
The  duke  St.  Aignon  made  a  play. 
If  Gallic  wit  convince  you  scarce, 
His  grace  of  Bucks  has  made  a  farce, 
And  you,  whose  comic  wit  is  terse  all, 
Can  hardly  fall  below  Rehearsal. 
Then  finish  what  you  have  began ; 
But  scribble  faster  if  you  can : 
For  yet  no  George,  to  our  discerning, 
Has  writ  without  a  ten  years'  warning. 


TO  MR.  SOUTHERN, 

ON  HIS  COMEDY  CALLED,  '  THE  WIVES'  EXCUSE,* 

Sure  there 's  a  fate  in  plays,  and  'tis  in  vain 
To  write  while  these  malignant  planets  reign. 
Some  very  foolish  influence  rules  the  pit. 
Not  always  kind  to  sense,  or  just  to  wit  : 
And  whilst  it  lasts,  let  bufFoon'ry  succeed, 
To  make  us  laugh ;  for  never  was  more  need. 
Farce,  in  itself,  is  of  a  nasty  scent ; 
But  the  gain  smells  not  of  the  excrement. 
The  Spanish  nymph,  a  wit  and  beauty  too, 
With  all  her  charms,  bore  but  a  single  show: 
But  let  a  monster  Muscovite  appear. 
He  draws  a  crowded  audience  round  the  year. 


EPISTLES.  253 

May  be  thou  hast  not  pleased  the  box  and  pit ; 

Yet  those  who  blame  thy  tale  applaud  thy  wit : 

So  Terence  plotted,  but  so  Terence  writ. 

Like  his  thy  thoughts  are  true,  thy  language  clean ; 

E'en  lewdness  is  made  moral  in  thy  scene. 

The  hearers  may  for  want  of  Nokes  repine ; 

But  rest  secure,  the  readers  will  be  thine. 

Nor  was  thy  labour'd  drama  damn'd  or  hiss'd, 

But  with  a  kind  civility  dismiss'd ; 

With  such  good  manners,  as  the  Wife  did  use, 

Who,  not  accepting,  did  but  just  refuse. 

There  was  a  glance  at  parting ;  such  a  look, 

As  bids  thee  not  give  o'er,  for  one  rebuke. 

But  if  thou  would'st  be  seen,  as  well  as  read, 

Copy  one  living  author,  and  one  dead : 

The  standard  of  thy  style  let  Etherege  be ; 

For  wit,  the  immortal  spring  of  Wycherley : 

Learn,  after  both,  to  draw  some  just  design, 

And  the  next  age  will  learn  to  copy  thine. 


TO  HENRY  HIGDEN,  Esq. 

ON  HIS  TRANSLATION  OF  THE  TENTH  SATIRE  OP  JUVENA 

The  Grecian  wits,  who  Satire  first  began. 

Were  pleasant  Pasquins  on  the  life  of  man ; 

At  mighty  villains,  who  the  state  oppress'd, 

They  durst  not  rail,  perhaps  ;  they  lash'd,  at  least> 

And  tum'd  them  out  of  office  with  a  jest. 

No  foci  could  peep  abroad,  but  ready  stand 

The  drolls  to  clap  a  bauble  in  his  hand. 

Wise  legislators  never  yet  could  draw 

A  fop  within  the  reach  of  common  law  ; 

For  posture,  dress,  grimace,  and  affectation. 

Though  foes  to  sense,  are  harmless  to  the  nation. 

Our  last  redress  is  dint  of  verse  to  try, 

And  Satire  is  our  court  of  Chancery. 

This  way  took  Horace  to  reform  an  age, 

Not  bad  enough  to  need  an  author's  rage. 

But  yours,  who  lived  in  more  degenerate  times, 

Was  forced  to  fasten  deep,  and  worry  crimes. 

Yet  you,  my  friend,  have  temper'd  him  so  well, 

You  make  him  smile  in  spite  of  all  his  zeal : 


254  EPISTLES. 

An  art  peculiar  to  yourself  alone, 

To  join  the  virtues  of  two  styles  in  one. 

Oh  !  were  your  author's  principle  received, 
Half  of  the  labouring  world  would  be  relieved : 
For  not  to  wish  is  not  to  be  deceived. 
Revenge  would  into  charity  be  changed, 
Because  it  costs  too  dear  to  be  revenged : 
It  costs  our  quiet  and  content  of  mind, 
And  when  'tis  compass'd  leaves  a  sting  behind. 
Suppose  I  had  the  better  end  o'  the  staff. 
Why  should  I  help  the  ill-natured  world  to  laugh  ? 
'Tis  all  alike  to  them,  who  get  the  day  ; 
They  love  the  spite  and  mischief  of  the  fray. 
No  ;  I  have  cured  myself  of  that  disease  ; 
Nor  will  I  be  provoked,  but  when  I  please : 
But  let  me  half  that  cure  to  you  restore  ; 
You  give  the  salve,  I  laid  it  to  the  sore. 

Our  kind  relief  against  a  rainy  day, 
Beyond  a  tavern,  or  a  tedious  play. 
We  take  your  book,  and  laugh  our  spleen  away. 
If  all  your  tribe,  too  studious  of  debate. 
Would  cease  false  hopes  and  titles  to  create, 
Led  by  the  rare  example  you  begun. 
Clients  would  fail,  and  lawyers  be  undone. 


TO  MR.  CONGEEVE, 

ON  HIS   COMEDY  CALLED,   *  THE  DOUBLE  DEALER.' 

Well  then,  the  promised  hour  is  eome  at  last, 

The  present  age  of  wit  obscures  the  past : 

Strong  were  our  sires,  and  as  they  fought  they  writ, 

Conquering  with  force  of  arms,  and  dint  of  wit : 

Theirs  was  the  giant  race,  before  the  flood : 

And  thus,  when  Charles  return'd,  our  empire  stood. 

Like  Janus  he  the  stubborn  soil  manured. 

With  rules  of  husbandry  the  rankness  cured  ; 

Tamed  us  to  manners,  when  the  stage  was  rude  ; 

And  boisterous  EngUsh  wit  with  art  indued. 

Our  age  was  cultivated  thus  at  length  ; 

But  what  we  gained  in  skill  we  lost  in  strength. 

Our  builders  were  with  want  of  genius  cursed ; 

The  second  temple  was  not  like  the  first : 


EPISTLES.  255 

Till  you,  the  best  Vitruvius,  come  at  length ; 

Gur  beauties  equal,  but  excel  our  strength. 

Firm  Doric  pillars  found  your  solid  base  : 

The  fair  Corinthian  crowns  the  higher  space : 

Thus  all  below  is  strength,  and  all  above  is  grace. 

In  easy  dialogue  is  Fletcher's  praise  ; 

He  moved  the  mind,  but  had  not  power  to  raise. 

Great  Jonson  did  by  strength  of  judgment  please  ; 

Yet,  doubling  Fletcher's  force,  he  wants  his  ease. 

In  differing  talents  both  adorn'd  their  age  ; 

One  for  the  study,  t'other  for  the  iitage. 

But  both  to  Congreve  justly  shall  submit. 

One  match'd  in  judgment,  both  o'ermatch'd  in  wit. 

In  him  all  beauties  of  this  age  we  see, 

Etherege  his  courtship,  Southern's  purity, 

The  satire,  wit,  and  strength  of  manly  Wycherley. 

All  this  in  blooming  youth  you  have  achieved ; 

Nor  are  your  foil'd  contemporaries  grieved. 

So  much  the  sweetness  of  your  manners  move, 

We  cannot  envy  you,  because  we  love. 

Fabius  might  joy  in  Scipio,  when  he  saw 

A  beardless  consul  made  against  the  law, 

And  join  his  suffrage  to  the  votes  of  Rome ; 

Though  he  with  Hannibal  was  overcome. 

Thus  old  Romano  bow'd  to  Raphael's  fame. 

And  scholar  to  the  youth  he  taught  became. 

Oh  that  your  brows  my  laurel  had  sustain'd ! 
Well  had  I  been  deposed,  if  you  had  reign'd : 
The  father  had  descended  for  the  son ; 
For  only  you  are  lineal  to  the  throne. 
Thus,  when  the  state  one  Edward  did  depose, 
A  greater  Edward  in  his  room  arose. 
But  now,  not  I,  but  poetry  is  cursed ; 
For  Tom  the  second  reigns  like  Tom  the  first. 
But  let  them  not  mistake  my  patron's  part, 
Nor  call  his  charity  their  own  desert.    - 
Yet  this  I  prophesy  ;  thou  shalt  be  s«^en, 
(Though  with  some  short  parenthesis  between) 
High  on  the  throne  of  wit,  and,  seated  there. 
Not  mine,  that's  httle,  but  thy  laurel  wear. 
Thy  first  attempt  an  early  promise  made  ; 
That  early  promise  this  has  more  than  paid. 
So  bold,  yet  so  judiciously  you  dare, 
That  your  least  praise  is  to  be  regular. 


256  '  EPISTLES. 

Time,  place,  and  action,  may  with  pains  be  wrought ; 

But  genius  must  be  born,  and  never  can  be  taught. 

This  is  your  portion  ;  this  your  native  store  ; 

Heaven,  that  but  once  was  prodigal  before, 

To  Shakspeare  gave  as  much  ;  she  could  not  give  him  more 

Maintain  your  post :  that 's  all  the  fame  you  need  ; 
For  'tis  impossible  you  should  proceed. 
Already  I  am  worn  with  cares  and  age. 
And  just  abandoning  the  ungrateful  stage  : 
Unprolitably  kept  at  Heaven's  expense, 
I  Hve  a  rent-charge  on  his  providence  : 
But  you,  whom  every  muse  and  grace  adorn, 
Whom  I  foresee  to  better  fortune  born. 
Be  kind  to  my  remains  ;  and  oh,  defend. 
Against  your  judgment,  your  departed  friend  ! 
Let  not  the  insulting  foe  my  fame  pursue. 
But  shade  those  laurels  which  descend  to  you : 
And  take  for  tribute  what  these  lines  express  : 
You  merit  more  ;  nor  could  my  love  do  less. 


TO  MR.  GRANVILLE, 

(afterwards  lord  lansdowne,) 

on  his  tragedy  called,  *  heroic  love.' 

Auspicious  poet,  wert  thou  not  my  friend. 

How  could  I  envy,  what  I  must  commend ! 

But  since  'tis  nature's  law,  in  love  and  wit. 

That  youth  should  reign,  and  withering  age  submit^ 

With  less  regret  those  laurels  I  resign. 

Which,  dying  on  my  brows,  revive  on  thine. 

With  better  grace  an  ancient  chief  may  yield 

The  long-contended  honours  of  the  field, 

Than  venture  all  his  fortune  at  a  cast. 

And  fight,  like  Hannibal,  to  lose  at  last. 

Young  princes,  obstinate  to  win  the  prize, 

Though  yearly  beaten,  yearly  yet  they  rise  : 

Old  monarchs,  though  successful,  still  in  doubt. 

Catch  at  a  peace,  and  wisely  turn  devout. 

Thine  be  the  laurel  then  ;  thy  blooming  age 

Can  best,  if  any  can,  support  the  stage  ; 

Which  so  declines,  that  shortly  we  may  see        -^ 

Players  and  plays  reduced  to  second  infancy. 


EPISTLES.  257 

Sharp  to  the  world,  but  thoughtless  of  renown, 

They  plot  not  on  the  stage,  but  on  the  town, 

And,  in  despair  their  empty  pit  to  fill, 

Set  up  some  foreign  monster  in  a  bill. 

Thus  they  jog  on,  still  tricking,  never  thriving, 

And  murdering  plays,  which  they  miscal  reviving. 

Our  sense  is  nonsense,  through  their  pipes  convey'd ; 

Scarce  can  a  poet  know  the  play  he  made  ; 

'Tis  so  disguised  in  death  ;  nor  thinks  'tis  he 

That  sufifers  in  the  mangled  tragedy. 

Thus  Itys  first  was  kill'd,  and  after  dress'd 

For  his  own  sire,  the  chief  invited  guest. 

I  say  not  this  of  thy  successful  scenes, 

Where  thine  was  all  the  glory,  theirs  the  gains. 

With  length  of  time,  much  judgment,  and  more  toil, 

Not  ill  they  acted,  what  they  could  not  spoil. 

Their  setting-sun  still  shoots  a  glimmering  ray, 

Like  ancient  Rome,  majestic  in  decay : 

And  better  gleanings  their  worn  soil  can  boast, 

Than  the  crab-vintage  of  the  neighbouring  coast. 

This  dijQference  yet  the  judging  world  will  see ; 

Thou  copyest  Homer,  and  they  copy  thee. 


TO  IVm.  MOTTEUX, 

ON  HIS  TRAGEDY   CALLED,   *  BEAUTY  IN  DISTRESS.' 

'Tis  hard,  my  friend,  to  write  in  such  an  age, 
As  damns,  not  only  poets,  but  the  stage. 
That  sacred  art,  by  Heaven  itself  infused, 
Which  Moses,  David,  Solomon  have  used. 
Is  now  to  be  no  more  :  the  Muses'  foes 
Would  sink  their  Maker's  praises  into  prose. 
Were  they  content  to  prune  the  lavish  vine 
Of  straggling  branches,  and  improve  the  wine, 
Who,  but  a  madman,  would  his  thoughts  defend  ? 
All  would  submit ;  for  all  but  fools  will  mend. 
But  when  to  common  sense  they  give  the  lie. 
And  turn  distorted  words  to  blasphemy, 
They  give  the  scandal ;  and  the  wise  discern, 
Their  glosses  teach  an  age,  too  apt  to  learn. 
What  I  have  loosely,  or  profanely  writ. 
Let  them  to  fires,  their  due  desert,  commit : 
24 


258  EPISTLES. 

Nor,  when  accused  by  me,  let  them  complain : 

Their  faults,  and  not  their  function,  I  arraign. 

Eebellion,  worse  than  witchcraft,  they  pursued ; 

The  pulpit  preach'd  the  crime,  the  people  rued. 

The  stage  was  silenced ;  for  the  saints  would  see 

In  fields  perform'd  their  plotted  tragedy. 

But  let  us  first  reform,  and  then  so  live, 

That  we  may  teach  our  teachers  to  forgive : 

Our  desk  be  placed  below  their  lofty  chairs ; 

Ours  be  the  practice,  as  the  precept  theirs. 

The  moral  part,  at  least,  we  may  divide, 

Humility  reward,  and  punish  pride  ; 

Ambition,  interest,  avarice,  accuse : 

These  are  the  province  of  a  tragic  muse. 

These  hast  thou  chosen ;  and  the  pubhc  voice 

Has  equall'd  thy  performance  with  thy  choice. 

Time,  action,  place,  are  so  preserved  by  thee, 

That  e'en  Corneille  might  with  envy  see 

The  alliance  of  his  Tripled  Unity. 

Thy  incidents,  perhaps,  too  thick  are  sown ; 

But  too  much  plenty  is  thy  fault  alone. 

At  least  but  two  can  that  good  crime  commit, 

Thou  in  design,  and  Wycherley  in  wit. 

Let  thy  own  Gauls  condemn  thee,  if  they  dare ; 

Contented  to  be  thinly  regular  : 

Born  there,  but  not  for  them,  our  fruitful  soil 

With  more  increase  rewards  thy  happy  toiL 

Their  tongue,  enfeebled,  is  refined  too  much  ; 

And,  like  pure  gold,  it  bends  at  every  touch : 

Our  sturdy  Teuton  yet  will  art  obey, 

More  fit  for  manly  thought,  and  strengthen'd  with  allay. 

But  whence  art  thou  inspired,  and  thou  alone. 

To  flourish  in  an  idiom  not  thy  own  1 

It  moves  our  wonder,  that  a  foreign  guest 

Should  over-match  the  most,  and  match  the  best. 

In  under-praising  thy  deserts,  I  wrong  ; 

Here  find  the  first  deficience  of  our  tongue  : 

Words,  once  my  stock,  are  wanting,  to  commend 

So  great  a  poet,  and  so  good  a  friend. 


iV 


EPISTLES.  ! 

TO  MY  HONOURED  KINSMAN, 

JOHN  DRYDEN, 

OP  CHESTERTON,  IN  THE  COUNTY  OF  HUNTINGDON,   ESQ. 

How  bless'd  is  he,  who  leads  a  country  Hfe, 
Unvex'd  with  anxious  cares,  and  void  of  strife ! 
Who  studying  peace,  and  shunning  civil  rage, 
Enjoy 'd  his  youth,  and  now  enjoys  his  age  : 
All  who  deserve  his  love,  he  makes  .his  own  ; 
And,  to  be  loved  himself,  needs  only  to  be  known. 

Just,  good  and  wise,  contending  neighbours  come,i 
From  your  award  to  wait  their  final  doom  ; 
And,  foes  before,  return  in  friendship  home. 
Without  their  cost,  you  terminate  the  cause  ; 
And  save  the  expense  of  long  litigious  laws  : 
Where  suits  are  traversed ;  and  so  little  won. 
That  he  who  conquers,  is  but  last  undone  : 
Such  are  not  your  decrees  ;  but  so  design'd. 
The  sanction  leaves  a  lasting  peace  behind : 
Like  your  own  soul,  serene ;  a  pattern  of  your  mind. 

Promoting  concord,  and  composing  strife. 
Lord  of  yourself,  uncumber'd  with  a  wife  ; 
Where,  for  a  year,  a  month,  perhaps  a  night, 
Long  penitence  succeeds  a  short  delight : 
Minds  are  so  hardly  match' d,  that  ev'n  the  first. 
Though  pair'd  by  Heaven,  in  Paradise  were  cursed. 
For  man  and  woman,  though  in  one  they  grow, 
Yet,  first  or  last,  return  again  to  two. 
He  to  God's  image,  she  to  his  was  made  ; 
So,  farther  from  the  fount,  the  stream  at  random  stray'd. 

How  could  he  stand,  when,  put  to  double  pain. 
He  must  a  weaker  than  himself  sustain  ! 
Each  might  have  stood,  perhaps  ;  but  each  alone  ; 
Two  wrestlers  help  to  pull  each  other  down. 

Not  that  my  verse  would  blemish  all  the  fair ; 
But  yet  if  some  be  bad,  'tis  wisdom  to  beware  ; 
And  better  shun  the  bait,  than  struggle  in  the  snare. 
Thus  have  you  shunn'd,  and  shun  the  married  state, 
Trusting  as  little  as  you  can  to  fate. 

No  porter  guards  the  passage  of  your  door, 
T'  admit  the  wealthy,  and  exclude  the  poor ; 
For  God,  who  gave  the  riches,  gave  the  heart 
To  sanctify  the  whole,  by  giving  part ; 


ii60  EPISTLES 

Heaven,  who  foresaw  the  will,  the  means  has  wrought. 
And  to  the  second  son  a  blessing  brought ; 
The  first-begotten  had  his  father's  share  : 
But  you,  like  Jacob,  are  Rebecca's  heir. 

So  may  your  stores,  and  fruitful  fields  increase ; 
And  ever  be  you  bless'd,  who  live  to  bless. 
As  Ceres  sow'd,  where'er  her  chariot  flew  ; 
As  Heaven  in  deserts  rain'd  the  bread  of  dew ; 
So  free  to  many,  to  relations  most. 
You  feed  with  manna  your  own  Israel  host. 

With  crowds  attended  of  your  ancient  race, 
You  seek  the  champain  sports,  or  sylvan  chace  : 
With  well-breath'd  bugles  you  surround  the  wood, 
Ev'n  then,  industrious  of  the  common  good : 
And  often  have  you  brought  the  wily  fox 
To  suffer  for  the  firsthngs  of  the  flocks  ; 
Chased  even  amid  the  folds  ;  and  made  to  bleed, 
Like  felons,  where  they  did  the  murderous  deed. 
This  fiery  game  your  active  youth  maintain'd, 
Not  yet  by  years  extinguish'd,  though  restrain'd  : 
You  season  still  with  sports  your  serious  hours  : 
For  age  but  tastes  of  pleasures,  youth  devours. 
The  hare  in  pastures  or  in  plains  is  found. 
Emblem  of  human  life,  who  runs  the  round ; 
And,  after  all  his  wandering  ways  are  done. 
His  circle  fills,  and  ends  where  he  begun, 
Just  as  the  setting  meets  the  rising  sun. 

Thus  princes  ease  their  cares  ;  but  happier  he. 
Who  seeks  not  pleasure  through  necessity, 
Than  such  as  once  on  slippery  thrones  were  placed ; 
And  chasing,  sigh  to  think  tliemselves  are  chased. 

So  lived  our  sires,  ere  doctors  learn'd  to  kill, 
And  multiplied  with  theirs  the  weekly  bill. 
The  first  physicians  by  debauch  were  made  : 
Excess  began,  and  sloth  sustains  the  trade, 
Pity  the  generous  kind  their  cares  bestow 
To  search  forbidden  truths  ;  (a  sin  to  know  r) 
To  which  if  human  science  could  attain. 
The  doom  of  death,  pronounced  by  God,  were  vain. 
In  vain  the  leech  would  interpose  delay  ; 
Fate  fastens  first,  and  vindicates  the  prey. 
What  help  from  art's  endeavours  can  we  have  ? 
Gibbons  but  guesses,  nor  is  sure  to  save  : 
But  Maurua  sweeps  whole  parishes,  and  peoples  every  grave : 


EPISTLES.  261 

And  no  more  mercy  to  mankind  will  use, 
Than  when  he  robb'd  and  murder'd  Maro's  muso 
Would'st  thou  be  soon  despatch'd,  and  perish  whole, 
Trust  Maurus  with  thy  life,  and  Mil  bourn  with  thy  soul.* 

By  chace  our  long-lived  fathers  earn'd  their  food ; 
Toil  strung  the  nerves,  and  purified  the  blood : 
But  we  their  sons,  a  pamper'd  race  of  men. 
Are  dwindled  down  to  threescore  years  and  ten. 
Better  to  hunt  in  fields,  for  health  unbought, 
Thau  fee  the  doctor  for  a  nauseous  draught ; 
The  wise,  for  cure,  on  exercise  depend ; 
God  never  made  his  work,  for  man  to  mend. 

The  tree  of  knowledge,  once  in  Eden  placed, 
"Was  easy  found,  but  was  forbid  the  taste  : 
Oh,  had  our  grandsire  walk'd  without  his  wife, 
He  first  had  sought  the  better  plant  of  life  ! 
Now  both  are  lost :  yet,  wandering  in  the  dark, 
Physicians,  for  the  tree,  have  found  the  bark : 
They,  labouring  for  relief  of  human  kind. 
With  sharpen'd  sight  some  remedies  may  find  ; 
The  apothecary-train  is  wholly  blind. 
From  files  a  random  recipe  they  take. 
And  many  deaths  of  one  prescription  make. 
Garth,  generous  as  his  muse,  prescribes  and  gives ; 
The  shopman  sells  ;  and  by  destruction  lives  : 
Ungrateful  tribe !  who,  like  the  viper's  brood. 
From  med'cine  issuing,  suck  their  mother's  blood  ! 
Let  these  obey ;  and  let  the  learn'd  prescribe  ; 
That  men  may  die,  without  a  double  bribe  : 
Let  them,  but  under  their  superiors,  kill ; 
When  doctors  first  have  sign'd  the  bloody  bill ; 
He  'scapes  the  best,  who,  nature  to  repair. 
Draws  physic  from  the  fields,  in  draughts  of  vital  air. 

You  hoard  not  health,  for  your  own  private  use ; 
But  on  the  pubhc  spend  the  rich  produce. 
When,  often  urged,  unwilling  to  be  great. 
Your  country  calls  you  from  your  loved  retreat, 
And  sends  to  senates,  charged  with  common  care, 
Which  none  more  shuns :  and  none  can  better  bear : 
Where  could  they  find  another  formd  so  fit, 
To  poise,  with  sohd  sense,  a  sprightly  wit  ? 

♦  Dr.  Gibbons  was  a  physician  at  this  time  justly  in  high  esteem.  By 
Maurus  in  meant  Sir  Richard  Blackmore.  physician  to  King  Williami  and 
author  of  many  epic  poems.     Milbourn  was  a  nonjuring  minister. 

24* 


Were  these  both  wanting,  as  they  both  abound, 
Where  could  so  firm  integrity  be  found  ? 
Well  born,  and  wealthy,  wanting  no  support, 
You  steer  betwixt  the  country  and  the  court : 
Nor  gratify  whate'er  the  great  desire, 
Nor  grudging  give  what  pubhc  needs  require. 
Part  must  be  left,  a  fund  when  foes  invade ; 
And  part  employed  to  roll  the  watery  trade  : 
Ev'n  Canaan's  happy  land,  when  worn  with  toil, 
Required  a  sabbath-year  to  mend  the  meagre  soiL 

Good  senators  (and  such  as  you)  so  give, 
That  kings  may  be  supplied,  the  people  thrive. 
And  he,  when  want  requires,  is  truly  wise, 
Who  slights  not  foreign  aids,  nor  over-buys  ; 
But  on  our  native  strength,  in  time  of  need,  relies. 
Munster  was  bought,  we  boast  not  the  success ; 
Who  fights  for  gain,  for  greater  makes  his  peace. 
Our  foes,  compell'd  by  need,  have  peace  embraced ; 
The  peace  both  parties  want,  is  like  to  last : 
Which  if  secure,  securely  we  may  trade  ; 
Or,  not  secure,  should  never  have  been  made. 
Safe  in  ourselves,  while  on  ourselves  we  stand. 
The  sea  is  ours,  and  that  defends  the  land. 
Be,  then,  the  naval  stores  the  nation's  care. 
New  ships  to  build,  and  batter'd  to  repair. 

Observe  the  war,  in  every  annual  course  ; 
What  has  been  done,  was  done  with  British  force : 
Namur  subdued,  is  England's  palm  alone  ; 
The  rest  besieged  ;  but  we  constrain'd  the  town  : 
We  saw  the  event  that  follow'd  our  success  ; 
France,  though  pretending  arms,  pursued  the  peace  ; 
Obliged,  by  one  sole  treaty,  to  restore 
What  twenty  years  of  war  had  won  before. 
Enough  for  Europe  has  our  Albion  fought : 
Let  us  enjoy  the  peace  our  blood  has  bought. 
When  once  the  Persian  king  was  put  to  flight. 
The  weary  Macedons  refused  to  fight : 
Themselves  their  own  mortality  confess'd  ; 
And  left  the  son  of  Jove  to  quarrel  for  the  rest. 

Ev'n  victors  are  by  victories  undone  ; 
Thus  Hannibal,  with  foreign  laurels  won, 
To  Carthage  was  recall'd,  too  late  to  keep  his  own. 
While  sore  of  battle,  while  our  wounds  are  green,' 
Why  should  we  tempt  the  doubtful  die  again  ? 


263 


In  wars  renew'd,  uncertain  of  success  ; 
Sure  of  a  share,  as  umpires  of  the  peace. 

A  patriot  both  the  king  and  country  serves  : 
Prerogative,  and  privilege,  preserves  : 
Of  each  our  laws  the  certain  limit  show ; 
One  must  not  ebb,  nor  t'  other  overflow  : 
Betwixt  the  prince. and  parliament  we  stand  ; 
The  barriers  of  the  state  on  either  hand  : 
May  neither  overflow,  for  then  they  drown  the  land. 
When  both  are  full,  they  feed  our  bless'd  abode  ; 
Like  those  that  water'd  once  the  paradise  of  God. 
Some  overpoise  of  sway,  by  turns,  they  share  ; 
In  peace  the  people,  and  the  prince  in  war : 
Consuls  of  moderate  power  in  calms  were  made  ; 
When  the  Gauls  came,  one  sole  dictator  sway'd. 

Patriots,  in  peace,  assert  the  people's  right ; 
With  noble  stubbornness  resisting  might : 
No  lawless  mandates  from  the  court  receive, 
Nor  lend  by  force,  but  in  a  body  give. 
Such  was  your  generous  grandsire  :  free  to  grant 
In  parliaments,  that  weigh'd  their  prince's  want : 
But  so  tenacious  of  the  common  cause, 
As  not  to  lend  the  king  against  his  laws. 
And  in  a  loathsome  dungeon  doom'd  to  lie. 
In  bonds  retain'd  his  birthright  hberty, 
And  shamed  oppression,  till  it  set  him  free. 

0  true  descendant  of  a  patriot  line, 
Who,  while  ^ou  shar'st  their  lustre,  lend'st  them  thine, 
Vouchsafe  this  picture  of  thy  soul  to  see  ; 
'Tis  so  far  good,  as  it  resembles  thee ; 
The  beauties  to  the  original  I  owe  ; 
Which  when  I  miss,  my  own  defects  I  show : 
Nor  think  the  kindred  muses  thy  disgrace  : 
A  poet  is  not  born  in  every  race. 
Two  of  a  house  few  ages  can  afford ; 
One  to  perform,  another  to  record. 
Praiseworthy  actions  are  by  thee  embraced  ; 
And  'tis  my  praise,  to  make  thy  praises  last. 
For  ev'n  when  death  dissolves  our  human  frame, 
The  soul  returns  to  heaven  from  whence  it  came ; 
Earth  keeps  the  body,  verse  preserves  the  fame. 


264  episti.es. 

TO  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER, 

PRINCIPAL  PAINTER  TO   HIS  MAJESTY. 

Once  I  beheld  the  fairest  of  her  kind, 

And  still  the  sweet  idea  charms  my  mind : 

True,  she  was  dumb  ;  for  Nature  gazed  so  long. 

Pleased  with  her  work,  that  she  forgot  her  tongue ; 

But,  smiUng,  said,  ^  She  still  shall  gain  the  prize ; 

I  only  have  transferr'd  it  to  her  eyes.' 

Such  are  thy  pictures,  Kneller  :  such  thy  skill, 

That  Nature  seems  obedient  to  thy  will : 

Comes  out,  and  meets  thy  pencil  in  the  draught ; 

Lives  there,  and  wants  but  words  to  speak  her  thought. 

At  least  thy  pictures  look  a  voice  ;  and  we 

Imagine  sounds,  deceived  to  that  degree, 

We  think  'tis  somewhat  more  than  just  to  see. 

Shadows  are  but  privations  of  the  light ; 
Yet,  when  we  walk,  they  shoot  before  the  sight ; 
With  us  approach,  retire,  arise,  and  fall ; 
Nothing  themselves,  and  yet  expressing  aU. 
Such  are  thy  pieces,  imitating  life 
So  near,  they  almost  conquer  in  the  strife  ; 
And  from  their  animated  canvas  came. 
Demanding  souls,  and  loosen'd  from  the  frame. 

Prometheus,  were  he  here,  would  cast  away 
His  Adam,  and  refuse  a  soul  to  clay ;  ^ 

And  either  would  thy  noble  work  inspire, 
Or  think  it  warm  enough,  without  his  fire. 

But  vulgar  hands  may  vulgar  likeness  raise  ; 
This  is  the  least  attendant  on  thy  praise  : 
From  hence  the  rudiments  of  art  began ; 
A  coal,  or  chalk,  first  imitated  man  : 
Perhaps  the  shadow,  taken  on  a  wall, 
Gave  outlines  to  the  rude  original : 
Ere  canvas  yet  was  strain' d,  before  the  grace 
Of  blended  colours  found  their  use  and  place, 
Or  cypress  tablets  first  received  a  face. 

By  slow  degrees  the  god-like  art  advanced ; 
As  man  grew  polish' d,  picture  was  enhanced : 
Greece  added  posture,  shade,  and  perspective  ; 
And  then  the  mimic  piece  began  to  hve. 
Vet  perspective  was  lame,  no  distance  true, 
But  all  came  forward  in  one  common  view : 


EPISTLES.  -266 

No  point  of  light  was  known,  no  bounds  of  art ; 
When  light  was  there,  it  knew  not  to  depart, 
But  glaring  on  remoter  objects  play'd  ; 
Not  languish'd,  and  insensibly  decay'd. 

Eome  raised  not  art,  but  barely  kept  alive, 
And  with  old  Greece  unequally  did  strive : 
Till  Goths,  and  Vandals,  a  rude  northern  race, 
Did  all  the  matchless  monuments  deface. 
Then  all  the  Muses  in  one  ruin  lie, 
And  rhyme  began  to  enervate  poetry. 
Thus,  in  a  stupid  military  state. 
The  pen  and  pencil  find  an  equal  fate. 
Flat  faces,  such  as  would  disgrace  a  screen, 
Such  as  in  Bantam's  embassy  were  seen, 
Unraised,  unrounded,  were  the  rude  delight 
Of  brutal  nations,  only  born  to  fight. 

Long  time  the  sister  Arts,  in  iron  sleep, 
A  heavy  sabbath  did  supinely  keep  : 
At  length,  in  Raffaele's  age,  at  once  they  rise, 
Stretch  all  their  limbs,  and  open  all  their  eyes. 

Thence  rose  the  Roman,  and  the  Lombard  line : 
One  colour'd  best,  and  one  did  best  design. 
Raffaele's,  like  Homer's,  was  the  nobler  part, 
But  Titian's  painting  look'd  like  Virgil's  art. 

Thy  genius  gives  thee  both ;  where  true  design, 
Postures  unforced,  and  lively  colours  join. 
Likeness  is  ever  there  ;  but*  still  the  best. 
Like  proper  thoughts  in  lofty  language  dress'd  : 
Where  light,  to  shades  descending,  plays,  not  strives, 
Dies  by  degrees,  and  by  degrees  revives. 
Of  various  parts  a  perfect  whole  is  wrought : 
Thy  pictures  think,  and  we  divine  their  thought. 

Shakspeare,  thy  gift,  I  place  before  my  sight ; 
With  awe,  I  ask  his  blessing  ere  I  write  ; 
With  reverence  look  on  his  majestic  face  ; 
Proud  to  be  less,  but  of  his  god-like  race. 
His  soul  inspires  me,  while  thy  praise  I  write. 
And  I,  like  Teucer,  under  Ajax  fight : 
Bids  thee,  through  me,  be  bold  ;  with  dauntless  breast 
Contemn  the  bad,  and  emulate  the  best. 
Like  his,  thy  critics  in  the  attempt  are  lost : 
When  most  they  rail,  know  then,  they  envy  most. 
In  vain  they  snarl  aloof ;  a  noisy  crowd, 
Like  women's  anger,  impotent  and  loud. 


266  EPISTLES. 

While  they  their  barren  industry  deplore, 
Pass  on  secure,  and  mind  the  goal  before. 
Old  as  she  is,  my  Muse  shall  march  behind, 
Bear  off  the  blast,  and  intercept  the  wind. 
Our  arts  are  sisters,  though  not  twins  in  birth ; 
For  hymns  were  sung  in  Eden's  happy  earth  ; 
But  oh,  the  painter  Muse,  though  last  in  place, 
Has  seized  the  blessing  first,  like  Jacob's  race. 
Apelles'  art  an  Alexander  found  ; 
And  Eaffaele's  did  with  Leo's  gold  abound  ; 
But  Homer  was  with  barren  laurel  crown' d. 
Thou  hadst  thy  Charles  a  while,  and  so  had  1 ; 
But  pass  we  that  unpleasing  image  by. 
Rich  in  thyself,  and  of  thyself  divine  ; 
All  pilgrims  come  and  offer  at  thy  shrine. 
A  graceful  truth  thy  pencil  ckn  command  ; 
The  fair  themselves  go  mended  from  thy  hand. 
Likeness  appears  in  every  lineament ; 
But  likeness  in  thy  work  is  eloquent. 
Though  nature  there  her  true  resemblance  bears, 
A  nobler  beauty  in  thy  piece  appears. 
So  warm  thy  work,  so  glows  the  generous  frame. 
Flesh  looks  less  living  in  the  lovely  dame. 
Thou  paint'st  as  we  describe,  improving  still, 
When  on  wild  nature  we  engraft  our  skill ; 
But  not  creating  beauties  at  our  will. 

But  poets  are  confined  in  narrower  space, 
To  speak  the  language  of  their  native  place  : 
The  painter  widely  stretches  his  command  ; 
Thy  pencil  speaks  the  tongue  of  every  land. 
From  hence,  my  friend,  all  climates  are  your  own, 
Nor  can  you  forfeit,  for  you  hold  of  none. 
All  nations  all  immunities  will  give 
To  make  you  theirs,  where'er  you  please  to  live  ; 
And  not  seven  cities,  but  the  world  w<5uld  strive. 

Sure  some  propitious  planet  then  did  smile. 
When  first  you  were  conducted  to  this  isle  : 
Our  genius  brought  you  here,  to  enlarge  our  fame ; 
For  your  good  stars  are  every  where  the  same. 
Thy  matchless  hand,  of  every  region  free. 
Adopts  our  climate,  not  our  climate  thee. 

Great  Rome  and  Venice  early  did  impart 
To  thee  the  examples  of  their  wondrous  art. 


EPISTLES.  267 

Those  masters  then,  but  seen,  not  understood, 
With  generous  emulation  fired  thy  blood : 
For  what  in  nature's  dawn  the  child  admired. 
The  youth  endeavour 'd,  and  the  man  acquired. 

If  yet  thou  hast  not  reach'd  their  high  degree, 
'Tis  only  wanting  to  this  age,  not  thee. 
Thy  genius,  bounded  by  the  times,  like  mine, 
Drudges  on  petty  draughts,  nor  dare  design 
A  more  exalted  work,  and  more  divine. 
For  what  a  song,  or  senseless  opera 
Is  to  the  living  labour  of  a  play ; 
Or  what  a  play  to  Virgil's  work  would  be, 
Such  is  a  single  piece  to  history. 

But  we,  who  life  bestow,  ourselves  must  live  ; 
Kings  cannot  reign,  unless  their  subjects  give  ; 
And  they,  who  pay  the  taxes,  bear  the  rule  : 
Thus  thou,  sometimes,  art  forced  to  draw  a  fool ; 
But  so  his  foUies  in  thy  posture  sink, 
The  senseless  idiot  seems  at  last  to  think. 

Good  Heaven !  that  sots  and  knaves  should  be  so  vain, 
To  wish  their  vile  resemblance  may  remain  ! 
And  stand  recorded,  at  their  own  request, 
To  future  days,  a  libel  or  a  jest ! 

Else  should  we  see  your  noble  pencil  trace 
Qur  unities  of  action,  time,  and  place  : 
A  whoTS^coinpObed  of  parts,  and^^ose  the  best, 
With  every  various  character  express'd : 
Heroes  at  large,  and  at  a  nearer  view ; 
Less,  and  at  distance,  an  ignobler  crew. 
While  all  the  figures  in  one  action  join. 
As  tending  to  complete  the  main  design. 

More  cannot  be  by  mortal  art  express'd ; 
But  venerable  age  shall  add  the  rest. 
For  Time  shall  with  his  ready  pencil  stand ; 
Retouch  your  figures  with  his  ripening  hand  ; 
Mellow  your  colours,  and  imbrown  the  teint ; 
Add  every  grace,  which  Time  alone  can  grant ; 
To  future  ages  shall  your  fame  convey. 
And  give  more  beauties  than  he  takes  away. 


268 

ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 


TO    THE   MEMORY    OF    MR.  OLDHAM. 

OBiiT  1683. 

Farewell,  too  little,  and  too  lately  known, 

Whom  I  began  to  think,  and  call  my  own : 

For  sure  our  souls  were  near  allied,  and  thine 

Cast  in  the  same  poetic  mould  with  mine. 

One  common  note  on  either  lyre  did  strike, 

And  knaves  and  fools  we  both  abhorr'd  alike. 

To  the  same  goal  did  both  our  studies  drive ; 

The  last  set  out,  the  soonest  did  arrive. 

Thus  Nisus  fell  upon  the  slippery  place, 

Whilst  his  young  friend  perform'd,  and  won  the  race. 

Oh  early  ripe !  to  thy  abundant  store 

What  could  advancing  age  have  added  more  ? 

It  might  (what  nature  never  gives  the  young) 

Have  taught  the  numbers  of  thy  native  tongue. 

But  satire  needs  not  those,  and  wit  will  shine 

Through  the  harsh  cadence  of  a  rugged  line. 

A  noble  error,  and  but  seldom  made, 

When  poets  are  by  too  much  force  betray'd. 

Thy  generous  fruits,  though  gather'd  ere  their  prime, 

Still  show'd  a  quickness  ;  and  maturing  time 

But  mellows  what  we  write,  to  the  dull  sweets  of  rhyme. 

Once  more,  hail,  and  farewell ;  farewell,  thou  young, 

But  ah  too  short,  Marcellus  of  our  tongue ! 

Thy  brows  with  ivy,  and  with  laurels  bound ; 

But  fate  and  gloomy  night  encompass  thee  around. 


AN    ODE 

TO  THE  PIOUS  MEMORY  OP  THE  ACCOMPLISHED  YOUNG  LADY, 

MRS.  ANNE  KILLIGREW, 

EXCELLENT    IN    THE    TWO    SISTER  ARTS   OF    POEST  AND  PAINTINGL 

Thou  youngest  virgin-daughter  of  the  skies, 
Made  in  the  last  promotion  of  the  bless'd ; 
Whose  palms,  new  pluck'd  from  paradise. 
In  spreading  branches  more  sublimely  rise, 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  26 

Rich  with  immortal  green  above  the  rest : 
Whether,  adopted  to  some  neighb'ring  star, 
Thou  roll'st  above  us,  in  thy  wandering  race, 

Or,  in  procession  fix'd  and  regular, 

Mov'st  with  the  heaven's  majestic  pace ; 

Or,  caird  to  more  superior  bliss, 
Thou  tread'st,  with  seraphims,  the  vast  abyss : 
Whatever  happy  region  is  thy  place, 
Cease  thy  celestial  song  a  little  space ; 
Thou  wilt  have  time  enough  for  hymns  divine, 

Since  heaven's  eternal  year  is  thine. 
Hear  then  a  mortal  Muse  thy  praise  rehearse, 

In  no  ignoble  verse ; 
But  such  as  thy  own  voice  did  practise  here, 
When  thy  first-fruits  of  Poesy  were  given ; 
To  make  thyself  a  welcome  inmate  there : 
While  yet  a  young  probationer, 
And  candidate  of  heaven. 

If  by  traduction  came  thy  mind. 

Our  wonder  is  the  less  to  find 
A  soul  so  charming  from  a  stock  so  good  ; 
Thy  father  was  transfused  into  thy  blood : 
So  wert  thou  bom  into  a  tuneful  strain. 
An  early,  rich,  and  inexhausted  vein. 

But  if  thy  pre-existing  soul 

Was  form'd  at  first,  with  myriads  more. 
It  did  through  aU  the  mighty  poets  roll, 

Who  Greek  or  Latin  laurels  wore, 
And  was  that  Sappho  last,  which  once  it  was  before. 

If  so,  then  cease  thy  flight,  O  heaven-bom  mind  ! 
Thou  hast  no  dross  to  purge  from  thy  rich  ore : 

Nor  can  thy  soul  a  fairer  mansion  find. 

Than  was  the  beauteous  frame  she  left  behind  : 
Return  to  fill  or  mend  the  choir  of  thy  celestial  kind. 

May  we  presume  to  say,  that,  at  thy  birth. 
New  joy  was  sprung  in  heaven,  as  well  as  here  on  earth. 
For  sure  the  milder  planets  did  combine 
On  thy  auspicious  horoscope  to  shine, 
And  e'en  the  most  malicious  were  in  trine. 
Thy  brother-angels  at  thy  birth 

Strung  each  his  lyre,  and  tuned  it  high. 

That  all  the  people  of  the  sky 
Might  know  a  poetess  was  bom  on  earth. 
25 


270  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

And  then,  if  ever,  mortal  ears 

Had  heard  the  music  of  the  spheres. 

And  if  no  clustering  swarm  of  bees 

On  thy  sweet  mouth  distiU'd  their  golden  dew, 
'Twas  that  such  vulgar  miracles 
Heaven  had  not  leisure  to  renew : 

For  all  thy  blest  fraternity  of  love 
Solemnized  there  thy  birth,  and  kept  thy  holiday  above. 

O  gracious  God  !  how  far  have  we 
Profaned  thy  heavenly  gift  of  poesy  1 
Made  prostitute  and  profligate  the  Muse, 
Debased  to  each  obscene  and  impious  use, 
Whose  harmony  was  first  ordain'd  above 
For  tongues  of  angels,  and  for  hymns  of  love  ? 
Oh  wretched  we !  why  were  we  hurried  down 

This  lubrique  and  adulterate  age, 
(Nay,  added  fat  pollutions  of  our  own) 

To  increase  the  streaming  ordures  of  the  stage  ? 
What  can  we  say  to  excuse  our  second  fall  ] 
Let  this  thy  vestal,  Heaven,  atone  for  all ; 
Her  Arethusian  stream  remains  unsoil'd, 
Unmix'd  with  foreign  filth,  and  undefiled  ; 
Her  wit  was  more  than  man,  her  innocence  a  child. 

Art  she  had  none,  yet  wanted  none ; 

For  Nature  did  that  want  supply : 

So  rich  in  treasures  of  her  own, 

She  might  our  boasted  stores  defy : 
Such  noble  vigour  did  her  verse  adorn. 
That  it  seem'd  borrow'd,  where  'twas  only  born. 
Her  morals  too  were  in  her  bosom  bred, 

By  great  examples  daily  fed. 
What  in  the'best  of  books,  her  father's  life,  she  read. 
And  to  be  read  herself  she  need  not  fear ; 
Each  test,  and  every  light,  her  muse  will  bear, 
Though  Epictetus  with  his  lamp  were  there. 
E'en  love  (for  love  sometimes  her  muse  express'd) 
Was  but  a  lambent  flame  which  play'd  about  her  breast : 

Light  as  the  vapours  of  a  morning  dream. 
So  cold  herself,  whilst  she  such  warmth  express'd, 

'Twas  Cupid  bathing  in  Diana's  stream. 

Bom  to  the  spacious  empire  of  the  Nine, 

One  would  have  thought,  she  should  have  been  content 
To  manage  well  that  mighty  government ; 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  271 

But  what  can  young  ambitious  souls  confine  ? 

To  the  next  realm  she  stretched  her  swaj, 

For  Painture  near  adjoining  lay, 
A  plenteous  province,  and  alluring  prey. 

A  Chamber  of  Dependencies  was  framed, 
(As  conquerors  will  never  want  pretence, 

When  arm'd,  to  justify  the  offence) 
And  the  whole  fief,  in  right  of  poetry,  she  claim'd. 
The  country  open  lay  without  defence : 
For  poets  frequent  inroads  there  had  made. 

And  perfectly  could  represent 

The  shape,  the  face,  with  every  lineament, 
And  all  the  large  domains  which  the  Dumb  Sister  sway*d. 

All  bow'd  beneath  her  government, 

Received  in  triumph  wheresoe'er  she  went. 
Her  pencil  drew,  whate'er  her  soul  design'd. 
And  offc  the  happy  draught  surpass'd  the  image  in  her  mind. 

The  sylvan  scenes  of  herds  and  flocks. 

And  fruitful  plains  and  barren  rocks. 

Of  shallow  brooks  that  flow'd  so  clear, 

The  bottom  did  the  top  appear ; 

Of  deeper  too  and  ampler  floods, 

Which,  as  in  mirrors,  show'd  the  woods ; 

Of  lofty  trees,  with  sacred  shades, 

And  perspectives  of  pleasant  glades. 

Where  nymphs  of  brightest  form  appear, 

And  shaggy  satyrs  standing  near. 

Which  them  at  once  admire  and  fear. 
The  ruins  too  of  some  majestic  piece. 
Boasting  the  power  of  ancient  Rome,  or  Greece, 
Whose  statues,  friezes,  columns,  broken  he. 
And,  though  defaced,  the  wonder  of  the  eye ; 
What  nature,  art,  bold  fiction,  e'er  durst  frame, 
Her  forming  hand  gave  feature  to  the  name. 
So  strange  a  concourse  ne'er  was  seen  before. 
But  when  the  peopled  ark  the  whole  creation  bore. 

The  scene  then  changed,  with  bold  erected  look 
Our  martial  king  the  sight  with  reverence  strook : 
For  not  content  to  express  his  outward  part, 
Her  hand  call'd  out  the  image  of  his  heart : 
His  warlike  mind,  his  soul  devoid  of  fear. 
His  high-designing  thoughts  were  figured  there, 
As  when,  by  magic,  ghosts  are  made  appear. 


272  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

Our  phoenix-queen  was  pourtray'd,  too,  so  bright, 
Beauty  alone  could  beauty  take  so  right : 
Her  dress,  her  shape,  her  matchless  grace, 
Were  all  observed,  as  well  as  heavenly  face.     . 
With  such  a  peerless  majesty  she  stands, 
As  in  that  day  she  took  the  crown  from  sacred  hands  : 
Before  a  train  of  heroines  was  seen. 
In  beauty  foremost,  as  in  rank,  the  queen. 
Thus  nothing  to  her  genius  was  denied. 

But  like  a  ball  of  fire  the  further  thrown, 

Still  with  a  greater  blaze  she  shone. 
And  her  bright  soul  broke  out  on  every  side. 
What  next  she  had  design'd.  Heaven  only  knows : 
To  such  immoderate  growth  her  conquest  rose, 
That  fate  alone  its  progress  could  oppose. 

Now  all  those  charms,  that  blooming  grace. 
The  well-proportion'd  shape,  and  beauteous  face, 
Shall  never  more  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes  ; 
In  earth  the  much-lamented  virgin  Hes. 

Not  wit,  nor  piety  could  fate  prevent ; 

Nor  was  the  cruel  destiny  content 

To  finish  all  the  murder  at  a  blow, 

To  sweep  at  once  her  life,  and  beauty  too  j 
But,  like  a  hardened  felon,  took  a  pride 
To  work  more  mischievously  slow. 
And  plunder'd  first,  and  then  destroyed. 
0  double  sacrilege  on  things  divine. 
To  rob  the  reHc,  and  deface  the  shrine ! 

But  thus  Orinda^'died : 
Heaven,  by  the  same  disease,  did  both  translate , 
As  equal  were  their  souls,  so  equal  was  their  fate. 

Meantime  her  warlike  brother  on  the  seas 
His  waving  streamers  to  the  winds  displays, 

And  vows  for  his  return,  with  vain  devotion,  pays. 
Ah,  generous  youth,  that  v/ish  forbear. 
The  winds  too  soon  will  waft  thee  here ! 
Slack  all  thy  sails,  and  fear  to  come, 

Alas,  thou  know'st  not,  thou  art  wreck'd  at  home ! 

No  more  shalt  thou  behold  thy  sister's  face, 

Thou  hast  already  had  her  last  embrace. 

But  look  aloft,  and  if  thou  kenn'st  from  far 

Among  the  Pleiads  a  new-kindled  star, 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  ^3 

If  any  sparkles  than  the  rest  more  bright ; 
'Tis  she  that  shines  in  that  propitious  light. 

When  in  mid-air  the  golden  trump  shall  sound, 

To  raise  the  nations  under  ground  : 

AVhen  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat, 
The  judging  God  shall  close  the  book  of  fate ; 

And  there  the  last  assizes  keep, 

For  those  who  wake,  and  those  who  sleep  : 

When  rattling  bones  together  fly, 

From  the  four  comers  of  the  sky ; 
When  sinews  o'er  the  skeletons  are  spread, 
Those  clothed  with  flesh,  and  life  inspires  the  dead ; 
The  sacred  poets  first  shall  hear  the  sound. 

And  foremost  from  the  tomb  shall  bound, 
For  they  are  cover'd  with  the  lightest  ground  ; 
And  straight,  with  in-born  vigour,  on  the  wing. 
Like  mounting  larks,  to  the  new  morning  sing. 
There  thou,  sweet  saint,  before  the  quire  shaft  go, 
As  harbinger  of  heaven,  the  way  to  show, 
The  way  which  thou  so  well  hast  learn'd  below. 


UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  EARL  OF  DUNDEEL 

Oh  last  and  best  of  Scots  !  who  didst  maintain 
Thy  country's  freedom  from  a  foreign  reign  ; 
New  people  fill  the  land  now  thou  art  gone. 
New  gods  the  temples,  and  new  kings  the  throne. 
Scotland  and  thee  did  each  in  other  live ; 
Nor  would'st  thou  her,  nor  could  she  thee  survive. 
Farewell,  who  dying  didst  support  the  state, 
And  could'st  not  fall  but  with  thy  country's  fate. 


25* 


274  MjEGIes  anu  epitaphs, 

ELEONORA ; 

A  PANEGYRICAL  POEM, 
DEDICATED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OP  THE  LATE  COUNTESS  OP  ABINQDOIT. 

TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  THE  EARL  OF  ABINGDON,  &c. 

My  Lord, 
The  commands  with  which  you  honoured  me  some  months  ago, 
are  now  performed :  they  had  been  sooner ;  but  betwixt  ill 
health,  some  business,  and  many  troubles,  I  was  forced  to  defer 
them  till  this  time.  Ovid,  going  to  his  banishment,  and  writing 
from  on  shipboard  to  his  friends,  excused  the  faults  of  his  poetry 
by  his  misfortunes ;  and  told  them,  that  good  verses  never  flow, 
but  from  a  serene  and  composed  spirit.  Wit,  which  is  a  kind  of 
Mercury,  with  wings  fastened  to  his  head  and  heels,  can  fly  but 
slowly  in  a  damp  air.  I  therefore  chose  rather  to  obey  you  late 
than  ill :  if  at  least  I  am  capable  of  writing  any  thing,  at  any 
time,  which  is  worthy  your  perusal  and  your  patronage.  I  can- 
not say  that  I  have  escaped  from  a  shipwreck ;  but  have  only 
gained  a  rock  by  hard  swimming ;  where  I  may  pant  awhile  and 
gather  breath ;  for  the  doctors  give  me  a  sad  assurance,  that  my 
disease  never  took  its  leave  of  any  man,  but  with  a  purpose  to 
return.  However,  my  lord,  I  have  laid  hold  on  the  interval, 
and  managed  the  small  stock,  which  age  has  left  me,  to  the  best 
advantage,  in  performing  this  inconsiderable  service  to  my  lady's 
memory.  We,  who  are  priests  of  Apollo,  have  not  the  inspira- 
tion when  we  please ;  but  must  wait  till  the  god  comes  rushing 
on  us,  and  invades  us  with  a  fury,  which  we  are  not  able  to 
resist :  which  gives  us  double  strength  while  the  fit  continues, 
and  leaves  us  languishing  and  spent,  at  its  departure.  Let  me 
not  seem  to  boast,  my  lord,  for  I  have  really  felt  it  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  prophesied  beyond  my  natural  power.  Let  me  add, 
and  hope  to  be  believed,  that  the  excellency  of  the  subject  con- 
tributed much  to  the  happiness  of  the  execution ;  and  that  the 
weight  of  thirty  years  was  taken  off  me,  while  I  was  writing. 
I  swam  with  the  tide,  and  the  water  under  me  was  buoyant. 
The  reader  will  easily  observe,  that  I  was  transported  by  the 
multitude  and  variety  of  my  similitudes ;  which  are  generally 
the  product  of  a  luxuriant  fancy,  and  the  wantonness  of  wit. 
Had  I  called  in  my  judgment  to  my  assistance,  I  had  certainly 
retrenched  many  of  them.  But  I  defend  them  not ;  let  them 
pass  for  beautiful  faults  amongst  the  better  sort  of  critics  :  for 
the  whole  poem,  though  written  in  that  which  they  call  Heroic 
Terse,  is  of  the  Pindaric  nature,  as  well  in  the  thought  as  the 


DEDICATION.  275 

expression ;  and,  as  such,  requires  the  same  grains  of  allowance  for 
it.  It  was  intended,  as  your  lordship  sees  in  the  title,  not  for  an 
elegy,  but  a  panegyric  :  a  kind  of  apotheosis,  indeed,  if  a  heathen 
word  may  be  applied  to  a  Christian  use.  And  on  all  occasions  of 
praise,  if  we  take  the  ancients  for  our  patterns,  we  are  bound  by 
prescription  to  employ  the  magnificence  of  words,  and  the  force 
of  figures,  to  adorn  the  sublimity  of  thoughts.  Isocrates  amongst 
the  Grecian  orators,  and  Cicero,  and  the  younger  Pliny,  amongst 
the  Romans,  have  left  us  their  precedents  for  our  security :  for 
I  think  I  need  not  mention  the  inimitable  Pindar,  who  stretches 
on  these  pinions  out  of  sight,  and  is  carried  upward,  as  it  were, 
into  another  world. 

This,  at  least,  my  lord,  I  may  justly  plead,  that,  if  I  have  not 
performed  so  well  as  I  think  I  have,  yet  I  have  used  my  best 
endeavours  to  excel  myself.  One  disadvantage  I  have  had ; 
which  is,  never  to  have  known  or  seen  my  lady :  and  to  draw  the 
lineaments  of  her  mind,  from  the  description  which  I  have  received 
from  others,  is  for  a  painter  to  set  himself  at  work  without  the 
living  original  before  him ;  which,  the  more  beautiful  it  is,  will  be 
so  much  the  more  difficult  for  him  to  conceive,  when  he  has  only 
a  relation  given  him  of  such  and  such  features  by  an  acquain- 
tance or  a  friend,  without  the  nice  touches,  which  give  the  best 
resemblance,  and  make  tho  graces  of  the  picture.  Every  artist 
is  apt  enough  to  flatter  himself  (and  I  amongst  the  rest)  that 
their  own  ocular  observations  would  have  discovered  more  per- 
fections, at  least  others,  than  have  been  delivered  to  them  : 
though  I  have  received  mine  from  the  best  hands,  that  is,  from 
persons  who  neither  want  a  just  understanding  of  my  lady's 
worth,  nor  a  due  veneration  for  her  memory. 

Doctor  Donne,  the  greatest  wit,  though  not  the  greatest  poet 
of  our  nation,  acknowledges,  that  he  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Drury, 
whom  he  has  made  immortal  in  his  admirable  Anniversaries. 
I  have  had  the  same  fortune,  though  I  have  not  succeeded  tc 
the  same  genius.  However,  I  have  followed  his  footsteps  in  the 
design  of  his  panegyric,  which  was  to  raise  an  emulation  in  the  {■■" 
living,  to  copy  out  the  example  of  the  dead.  And  therefore  it 
was,  that  I  once  intended  to  have  called  this  poem.  The  Pattern  : 
and  though,  on  a  second  consideration,  I  changed  the  title  into 
the  name  of  the  illustrious  person,  yet  the  design  continues,  and 
Eleonora  is  still  the  pattern  of  charity,  devotion,  and  humility; 
of  the  best  wife,  the  best  mother,  and  the  best  of  friends. 

And  now,  my  lord,  though  I  have  endeavoured  to  answer  youp 
commands,  yet  I  could  not  answer  it  to  the  world,  nor  to  my 
conscience,  if  I  gave  not  your  lordship  my  testimony  of  being 
the  best  husband  now  living :  I  say  my  testimony  only;  for  the 
praise  of  it  is  given  you  by  yourself.  They  who  despise  the 
rules  of  virtue  both  in  their  practice  and  their  morals,  will  think 
thia  a  very  trivial  commendation.  But  I  think  it  the  peculiar 
t2 


276  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

happiness  of  the  Countess  of  Abingdon,  to  have  been  so  trulj 
loved  by  you,  while  she  was  living,  and  so  gratefully  honoured, 
after  she  was  dead.  Few  there  are  who  have  either  had,  or 
could  have,  such  a  loss ;  and  yet  fewer  who  carried  their  love 
and  constancy  beyond  the  grave.  The  exteriors  of  mourning, 
a  decent  funeral,  and  black  habits,  are  the  usual  stints  of  common 
husbands :  and  perhaps  their  wives  deserve  no  better  than  to  be 
mourned  with  hypocrisy,  and  forgot  with  ease.  But  you  have 
distinguished  yourself  from  ordinary  lovers,  by  a  real  and  lasting 
grief  for  the  deceased ;  and  by  endeavouring  to  raise  for  her  the 
most  durable  monument,  which  is  that  of  verse.  And  so  it 
would  have  proved,  if  the  workman  had  been  equal  to  the  work, 
and  your  choice  of  the  artificer  as  happy  as  your  design.  Yet, 
as  Phidias,  when  he  had  made  the  statue  of  Minerva,  could  not 
forbear  to  engrave  his  own  name,  as  author  of  the  piece  :  so  give 
me  leave  to  hope  that,  by  subscribing  mine  to  this  poem,  I  may 
live  by  the  goddess,  and  transmit  my  name  to  posterity  by  the 
memory  of  hers.  'Tis  no  flattery  to  assure  your  lordship,  that 
she  is  remembered,  in  the  present  age,  by  all  who  have  had  the 
honour  of  her  conversation  and  acquaintance  ;  and  that  I  have 
never  been  in  any  company  since  the  news  of  her  death  was  first 
brought  me,  where  they  have  not  extolled  her  virtues,  and  even 
spoken  the  same  things  of  her  in  prose,  which  I  have  done  in 
verse. 

I  therefore  think  myself  obliged  to  thank  your  lordship  for 
the  commission  which  you  have  given  me :  how  I  have  acquitted 
myself  of  it  must  be  left  to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  in  spite  of 
any  protestation  which  I  can  enter  against  the  present  age,  as 
incompetent  or  corrupt  judges.  For  my  comfort,  they  are  but 
Englishmen,  and,  as  such,  if  they  think  ill  of  me  to-day,  they  are 
inconstant  enough  to  think  well  of  me  to-morrow.  And  after 
all.  I  have  not  much  to  thank  my  fortune  that  I  was  bom 
amongst  them.  The  good  of  both  sexes  are  so  few,  in  England, 
that  they  stand  like  exceptions  against  general  rules :  and  though 
one  of  them  has  deserved  a  greater  commendation  than  I  could 
give  her,  they  have  taken  care  that  I  should  not  tire  my  pen 
with  frequent  exercise  on  the  like  subjects;  that  praises,  like 
taxes,  should  be  appropriated,  and  left  almost  as  individual  as 
the  person.  They  say,  my  talent  is  satire :  if  it  be  so,  'tis  a  fruit- 
ful age,  and  there  is  an  extraordinary  crop  to  gather.  But  a 
single  hand  is  insufiicient  for  such  a  harvest :  they  have  sown 
the  dragon's  teeth  themselves,  and  'tis  but  just  they  should  reap 
each  other  in  lampoons.  You,  my  lord,  who  have  the  character 
of  honour,  though  'tis  not  my  happiness  to  know  you,  may  stand 
aside,  with  the  small  remainders  of  the  English  nobility,  truly 
such,  and,  unhurt  yourselves,  behold  the  mad  combat.  If  I  have 
pleased  you,  and  some  few  others,  I  have  obtained  my  end. 
You  see  I  have  disabled  myself,  like  an  electtd  Speaker  of  the 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  277 

House :  yet  like  him  I  have  undertaken  the  charge,  and  find  the 
burden  suflficiently  recompensed  by  the  honour.  Be  pleased  to 
accept  of  these  my  unworthy  labours,  this  paper  monument; 
and  let  her  pious  memory,  which  I  am  sure  is  sacred  to  you,  not 
only  plead  the  pardon  of  my  many  faults,  but  gain  me  your 
protection,  which  is  ambitiously  sought  by, 

My  Lord, 
Your  Lordship's  most  obedient  Servant, 

JOHN  DRYDEN. 


ELEONORA* 

i» 
As  when  some  great  and  gracious  monarch  dies, 
55oft  whispers  first,  and  mournful  murmurs  rise 
Among  the  sad  attendants ;  then  the  sound 
Soon  gathers  voice,  and  spreads  the  news  around, 
Through  town  and  country,  till  the  dreadful  blast 
Is  blown  to  distant  colonies  at  last ; 
Who,  then,  perhaps,  were  offering  vows  in  vain, 
Por  his  long  life,  and  for  his  happy  reign : 
So  slowly,  by  degrees,  unwilling  fame 
Did  matchless  Eleonora's  fate  proclaim, 
Till  public  as  the  loss  the  news  became. 

The  nation  felt  it  in  the  extremest  parts, 
With  eyes  o'erflowing,  and  with  bleeding  hearts ; 
But  most  the  poor,  whom  daily  she  supplied. 
Beginning  to  be  such  but  when  she  died. 
For,  while  she  lived,  they  slept  in  peace  by  night, 
Secure  of  bread,  as  of  returning  light ; 
And  with  such  firm  dependence  on  the  day, 
That  need  grew  pamper'd,  and  forgot  to  pray : 
So  sure  the  dole,  so  ready  at  their  caU, 
They  stood  prepared  to  see  the  manna  fall. 

Such  multitudes  she  fed,  she  clothed,  she  nursed, 
That  she  herself  might  fear  her  wanting  first. 
Of  her  five  talents,  other  five  she  made ; 
Heaven,  that  had  largely  given,  was  largely  paid : 

•  It  appears,  from  the  dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Abingdon,  that  this  poem 
■was  written  at  his  Lordship's  own  desire.  The  lady  whom  the  poem  affects 
to  praise,  was  one  of  the  coheiresses  of  Sir  Henry  Lee  of  Chicheley  in  Oxford- 
shire, and  sister  to  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Anne  Wharton,  a  lady  eminent  for  her 
poetical  genius,  whom  Mr,  Waller  has  celebrated  in  an  elegant  copy  of  verses. 
The  Earl  is  said  to  have  given  Dryden  500  guineas  for  this  poem. 


278  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

And  in  few  lives,  in  wondrous  few,  we  find 

A  fortune  better  fitted  to  the  mind. 

Nor  did  her  alms  from  ostentation  fall, 

Or  proud  desire  of  praise ;  the  soul  gave  all : 

Unbribed  it  gave ;  or,  if  a  bribe  appear. 

No  less  than  heaven ;  to  heap  huge  treasures  there. 

Want  pass'd  for  merit  at  her  open  door : 
Heaven  saw,  he  safely  might  increase  his  poor, 
And  trust  their  sustenance  with  her  so  well, 
As  not  to  be  at  charge  of  miracle. 
None  could  be  needy,  whom  she  saw,  or  knew ; 
All  in  the  compass  of  her  sphere  she  drew : 
He,  who  could  touch  her  garment,  was  as  sure, 
As  the  first  Christians  of  the  apostles'  cure. 
The  distant  heard,  by  fame,  her  pious  deeds, 
And  laid  her  up  for  their  extremest  needs ; 
A  future  cordial  for  a  fainting  mind ; 
For,  what  was  ne'er  refused,  all  hoped  to  find, 
Each  in  his  turn :  the  rich  might  freely  come, 
As  to  a  friend ;  but  to  the  poor,  'twas  home. 
As  to  some  holy  house  the  afflicted  came. 
The  hunger-starved,  the  naked  and  the  lame  ; 
Want  and  diseases  fled  before  her  name. 
For  zeal  like  her's  her  servants  were  too  slow ; 
She  was  the  first,  where  need  required,  to  go ; 
Herself  the  foundress  and  attendant  too. 

Sure  she  had  guests  sometimes  to  entertain, 
Guests  in  disguise,  of  her  great  Master's  train  : 
Her  Lord  himself  might  come,  for  aught  we  know  ; 
Since  in  a  servant's  form  he  lived  below : 
Beneath  her  roof  he  might  be  pleased  to  stay ; 
Or  some  benighted  angel,  in  his  way. 
Might  ease  his  wings,  and,  seeing  heaven  appear 
In  its  best  work  of  mercy,  think  it  there, 
Where  all  the  deeds  of  charity  and  love 
Were  in  as  constant  method,  as  above, 
All  carried  on  ;  all  of  a  piece  with  theirs ; 
As  free  her  alms,  as  diligent  her  cares ; 
As  loud  her  praises,  and  as  warm  her  prayers. 

Yet  was  she  not  profuse ;  but  fear'd  to  waste, 
And  wisely  managed,  that  the  stock  might  last ; 
That  all  might  be  supplied,  and  she  not  grieve. 
When  crowds  appear'd,  she  had  not  to  relieve ; 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  STT 

Which  to  prevent,  she  still  increased  her  store  ; 

Laid  up,  and  spared,  that  she  might  give  the  more. 

So  Pharaoh,  or  some  greater  king  than  he, 

Provided  for  the  seventh  necessity : 

Taught  from  above  his  magazines  to  frame  ; 

That  famine  was  prevented  ere  it  came. 

Thus  Heaven,  though  all-sufficient,  shows  a  thrift 

In  his  economy,  and  bounds  his  gift : 

Creating,  for  our  day,  one  single  light ; 

And  his  reflection  too  supplies  the  nigljt. 

Perhaps  a  thousand  other  worlds,  that  lie 

Remote  from  us,  and  latent  in  the  sky. 

Are  lighten'd  by  his  beams,  and  kindly  nursed  ; 

Of  which  our  earthly  dunghill  is  the  worst. 

Now,  as  all  virtues  keep  the  middle  line, 
Yet  somewhat  more  to  one  extreme  incUne, 
Such  was  her  soul ;  abhorring  avarice. 
Bounteous,  but  almost  bounteous  to  a  vice : 
Had  she  given  more,  it  had  profusion  been, 
And  turn'd  the  excess  of  goodness  into  sin. 

These  virtues  raised  her  fabric  to  the  sky ; 
For  that,  which  is  next  heaven,  is  charity. 
But,  as  high  turrets,  for  their  airy  steep. 
Require  foundations,  in  proportion  deep ; 
And  lofty  cedars  as  far  upward  shoot. 
As  to  the  nether  heavens  they  drive  the  root : 
So  low  did  her  secure  foundation  He, 
She  was  not  humble,  but  Humility. 
Scarcely  she  knew  that  she  was  great,  or  fair, 
Or  wise,  beyond  what  other  women  are. 
Or,  which  is  better,  knew,  but  never  durst  compare. 
For  to  be  conscious  of  what  all  admire, 
And  not  be  vain,  advances  virtue  higher. 
But  still  she  found,  or  rather  thought  she  found. 
Her  own  worth  wanting,  others'  to  abound ; 
Ascribed  above  their  due  to  every  one. 
Unjust  and  scanty  to  herself  alone. 

Such  her  devotion  was,  as  might  give  rules 
Of  speculation  to  disputing  schools, 
And  teach  us  equally  the  scales  to  hold 
Betwixt  the  two  extremes  of  hot  and  cold ; 
That  pious  heat  may  mod'rately  prevail, 
And  we  be  warm'd,  but  not  be  scorched  with  zeal 


280  ELEGIES   AND  EPITAPHS. 

Business  might  shorten,  not  disturb,  her  prayer ; 
Heaven  had  the  best,  if  not  the  greater  share. 
An  active  Ufe  long  orisons  forbids  ; 
Yet  still  she  pray'd,  for  still  she  pray'd  by  deeds. 

Her  every  day  was  sabbath  ;  only  free 
From  hours  of  prayer,  for  hours  of  charity. 
Such  as  the  Jews  from  servile  toil  released ; 
Where  works  of  mercy  were  a  part  of  rest ; 
Such  as  blest  angels  exercise  above. 
Varied  with  sacred  hymns  and  acts  of  love  : 
Such  sabbaths  as  that  one  she  now  enjoys, 
E'en  that  perpetual  one,  which  she  employs, 
(For  such  vicissitudes  in  heaven  there  are) 
In  praise  alternate,  and  alternate  prayer. 
All  this  she  practised  here  ;  that  when  she  sprimg 
Amidst  the  choirs,  at  the  first  sight  she  sung : 
Sung,  and  was  sung  herself  in  angels'  lays  ; 
For,  praising  her,  they  did  her  Maker  praise. 
All  offices  of  heaven  so  well  she  knew, 
Before  she  came,  that  nothing  there  was  new : 
And  she  was  so  familiarly  received. 
As  one  returning,  not  as  one  arrived. 

Muse,  down  again  precipitate  thy  flight : 
For  how  can  mortal  eyes  sustain  immortal  light  ? 
But  as  the  sun  in  water  we  can  bear. 
Yet  not  the  sun,  but  his  reflection  there. 
So  let  us  view  her,  here,  in  what  she  was. 
And  take  her  image  in  this  watery  glass : 
Yet  look  not  every  lineament  to  see  ; 
Some  will  be  cast  in  shades,  and  some  will  be 
So  lamely  drawn,  you'll  scarcely  know  'tis  she. 
For  where  such  various  virtues  we  recite, 
'Ti3  like  the  milky-way,  all  over  bright, 
But  sown  so  thick  with  stars,  'tis  undistinguished  light. 

Her  virtue,  not  her  virtues,  let  us  call ; 
For  one  heroic  comprehends  them  all : 
One,  as  a  constellation  is  but  one, 
Though  'tis  a  train  of  stars,  that,  roUing  on, 
Rise  in  their  turn,  and  in  the  zodiac  run : 
Ever  in  motion  ;  now  'tis  Faith  ascends. 
Now  Hope,  now  Charity,  that  upward  tends, 
And  downwards  with  diffusive  good  descends. 

As  in  perfumes  composed  with  art  and  cost> 
Tis  hard  to  say  what  scent  is  uppermost ; 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  281 

Nor  this  part  musk  or  civet  can  we  call, 

Or  amber,  but  a  rich  result  of  all ; 

So  she  was  all  a  sweet,  whose  every  part, 

In  due  proportion  mix'd,  proclaim'd  the  Maker's  art. 

No  single  virtue  we  could  most  commend, 

Whether  the  wife,  the  mother,  or  the  friend ; 

For  she  was  all,  in  that  supreme  degree, 

That  as  no  one  prevail'd,  so  all  was  she. 

The  several  parts  lay  hidden  in  the  piece ; 

The  occasion  but  exerted  that,  or  this. 

A  wife  as  tender,  and  as  true  withal, 
As  the  first  woman  was  before  her  fall : 
Made  for  the  man,  of  whom  she  w^as  a  part ; 
Made  to  attract  his  eyes,  and  keep  his  hea^t. 
A  second  Eve,  but  by  no  crime  accursed ; 
As  beauteous,  not  as  brittle  as  the  first. 
Had  she  been  first,  still  Paradise  had  been, 
And  death  had  found  no  entrance  by  her  sin. 
So  she  not  only  had  preserved  from  ill 
Her  sex  and  ours,  but  lived  their  pattern  still. 

Love  and  obedience  to  her  lord  she  bore  ; 
She  much  obey'd  him,  but  she  loved  him  more  : 
Not  awed  to  duty  by  superior  sway. 
But  taught  by  his  indulgence  to  obey. 
Thus  we  love  God,  as  author  of  our  good  ; 
So  subjects  love  just  kings,  or  so  they  shou'd. 
Nor  was  it  with  ingratitude  retum'd  ; 
In  equal  fires  the  blissful  couple  bum'd  ; 
One  joy  possess'd  them  both,  and  in  one  grief  they  mourned. 
His  passion  still  improved  ;  he  loved  so  fast, 
As  if  he  fear'd  each  day  would  be  her  last. 
Too  true  a  prophet  to  foresee  the  fate 
That  should  so  soon  divide  their  happy  state : 
When  he  to  heaven  entirely  must  restore 
That  love,  that  heart,  where  he  went  halves  before. 
Yet  as  the  soul  is  all  in  every  part, 
So  God  and  he  might  each  have  all  her  heart. 

So  had  her  children  too  ;  for  Charity 
Was  not  more  fruitful,  or  more  kind  than  she : 
Each  under  other  by  degrees  they  grew ; 
A  goodly  perspective  of  distant  view. 
Anchises  look'd  not  with  so  pleased  a  face, 
In  numbering  o'er  his  future  Roman  race, 
26 


282  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

And  marshalling  the  heroes  of  his  name, 

As,  in  their  order,  next  to  light  they  came. 

Nor  Cybele,  with  half  so  kind  an  eye, 

Survey'd  her  sons  and  daughters  of  the  sky ; 

Proud,  shall  I  say,  of  her  immortal  fruit  1 

As  far  as  pride  with  heavenly  minds  may  suit. 

Her  pious  love  excelled  to  all  she  bore  ; 

New  objects  only  multiplied  it  more. 

And  as  the  chosen  found  the  pearly  grain 

As  much  as  every  vessel  could  contain ; 

As  in  the  blissful  vision  each  shall  share 

As  much  of  glory  as  his  soul  can  bear ; 

So  did  she  love,  and  so  dispense  her  care. 

Her  eldest  thus,  by  consequence,  was  best, 

As  longer  cultivated  than  the  rest. 

The  babe  had  all  that  infant  care  beguiles. 

And  early  knew  his  mother  in  her  smiles  ; 

But  when  dilated  organs  let  in  day 

To  the  young  soul,  and  gave  it  room  to  play, 

At  his  first  aptness,  the  maternal  love 

Those  rudiments  of  reason  did  improve  : 

The  tender  age  was  pliant  to  command  ; 

Like  wax  it  yielded  to  the  forming  hand : 

True  to  the  artificer,  the  labour'd  mind 

With  ease  was  pious,  generous,  just,  and  kind : 

Soft  for  impression,  from  the  first  prepared, 

'Till  virtue  with  long  exercise  grew  hard  : 

With  every  act  confirmed,  and  made  at  last 

So  durable  as  not  to  be  efifaced. 

It  tum'd  to  habit ;  and,  from  vices  free. 

Goodness  resolved  into  necessity. 

Thus  fix'd  she  virtue's  image,  that 's  her  own, 
'Till  the  whole  mother  in  the  children  shone ; 
For  that  was  their  perfection  :  she  was  such,     , 
They  never  could  express  her  mind  too  much. 
So  unexhausted  her  perfections  were, 
That,  for  more  children,  she  had  more  to  spare ; 
For  souls  unborn,  whom  her  untimely  death 
Deprived  of  bodies,  and  of  mortal  breath ; 
And  (could  they  take  the  impressions  of  her  mind) 
Enough  still  left  to  sanctify  her  kind. 

Then  wonder  not  to  see  this  soul  extend 
The  bounds,  and  seek  some  other  self,  a  friend : 


BLEQIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  283 

As  swelling  seas  to  gentle  rivers  glide, 
To  seek  repose,  and  empty  out  the  tide  ; 
So  this  full  soul,  in  narrow  limits  pent, 
Unnble  to  contain  her,  sought  a  vent. 
To  issue  out,  and  in  some  friendly  breast 
Discharge  her  treasures,  and  securely  rest : 
To  unbosom  all  the  secrets  of  her  heart, 
Take  good  advice,  but  better  to  impart. 
For  'tis  the  bhss  of  friendship's  holy  state, 
To  mix  their  minds,  and  to  communicate  ; 
Though  bodies  cannot,  souls  can  penetrate  : 
Fix'd  to  her  choice,  inviolably  true. 
And  wisely  choosing,  for  she  chose  but  few. 
Some  she  must  have  ;  but  in  no  one  could  find 
A  tally  fitted  for  so  large  a  mind. 

The  souls  of  friends  like  kings  in  progress  are  ; 
Still  in  their  own,  though  from  the  palace  far  : 
Thus  her  friend's  heart  her  country  dwelling  was, 
A  sweet  retirement  to  a  coarser  place  ; 
Where  pomp  and  ceremonies  enter'd  not. 
Where  greatness  was  shut  out,  and  business  well  forgot. 

This  is  the  imperfect  draught ;  but  short  as  far 
As  the  true  height  and  bigness  of  a  star 
Exceeds  the  measures  of  the  astronomer. 
She  shines  above,  we  know ;  but  in  what  place. 
How  near  the  throne,  and  Heaven's  imperial  face, 
By  our  weak  optics  is  but  vainly  guess'd  ; 
Distance  and  altitude  conceal  the  rest. 

Though  all  these  rare  endowments  of  the  mind 
Were  in  a  narrow  space  of  hfe  confined. 
The  figure  was  with  full  perfection  crown'd  ; 
Though  not  so  large  an  orb,  as  truly  round. 

As  when  in  glory,  through  the  public  place, 
The  spoils  of  conquer'd  nations  were  to  pass. 
And  but  one  day  for  triumph  was  allow'd. 
The  consul  was  constrain' d  his  pomp  to  crowd  ; 
And  so  the  swift  procession  hurried  on. 
That  all,  though  not  distinctly,  might  be  shown . 
So  in  the  straiten'd  bounds  of  life  confined 
She  gave  but  glimpses  of  her  glorious  mind : 
And  multitudes  of  virtues  pass'd  along  ; 
Each  pressing  foremost  in  the  mighty  throng, 
Ambitious  to  be  seen,  and  then  make  room 
For  greater  multitudes  that  were  to  come. 


284  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.         * 

Yet  unemployed  no  minute  slipp'd  away ; 
Moments  were  precious  in  so  short  a  stay. 
The  haste  of  Heaven  to  have  her  was  so  great, 
That  some  were  single  acts,  though  each  complete ; 
But  every  act  stood  ready  to  repeat. 

Her  fellow-saints  with  busy  care  will  look 
For  her  blest  name  in  fate's  eternal  book  ; 
And,  pleased  to  be  outdone,  with  joy  will  see 
Numberless  virtues,  endless  charity : 
But  more  wiU  wonder  at  so  short  an  age, 
To  find  a  blank  beyond  the  thirtieth  page : 
And  with  a  pious  fear  begin  to  doubt 
The  piece  imperfect,  and  the  rest  torn  out. 
But  'twas  her  Saviour's  time  ;  and,  could  there  be 
A  copy  near  the  original,  'twas  she. 

As  precious  gums  are  not  for  lasting  fire, 
They  but  perfume  the  temple,  and  expire : 
So  was  she  soon  exhaled,  and  vanished  hence  ; 
A  short  sweet  odour,  of  a  vast  expense. 
She  vanished,  we  can  scarcely  say  she  died  ; 
For  but  a  now  did  heaven  and  earth  divide : 
She  pass'd  serenely  with  a  single  breath  ; 
This  moment  perfect  health,  the  next  was  death : 
One  sigh  did  her  eternal  bliss  assure  ; 
So  little  penance  needs,  when  souls  are  almost  pure. 
As  gentle  dreams  our  waking  thoughts  pursue  ; 
Or,  one  dream  pass'd,  we  slide  into  a  new  ; 
So  close  they  follow,  such  wild  order  keepi. 
We  think  ourselves  awake,  and  are  asleep :         • 
So  softly  death  succeeded  life  in  her  : 
She  did  but  dream  of  heaven,  and  she  was  there. 

No  pains  she  suffer'd,  nor  expired  with  noise  ; 
Her  soul  was  whispered  out  with  God's  stiU  voice ; 
As  an  old  friend  is  beckon'd  to  a  feast, 
And  treated  Uke  a  long-familiar  guest. 
He  took  her  as  he  found,  but  found  her  so, 
As  one  in  hourly  readiness  to  go : 
E'en  on  that  day,  in  all  her  trim  prepared  ; 
As  early  notice  she  from  heaven  had  heard, 
And  some  descending  courier  from  above 
Had  given  her  timely  warning  to  remove  ; 
Or  counsell'd  her  to  dress  the  nuptial  room, 
For  on  that  night  the  bridegroom  was  to  come. 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  285 

He  kept  his  hour,  and  found  her  where  she  lay 

Clothed  all  in  white,  the  livery  of  the  day : 

Scarce  had  she  sinn'd  in  thought,  or  word,  or  act ; 

Unless  omissions  were  to  pass  for  fact : 

That  hardly  death  a  consequence  could  draw, 

To  make  her  hable  to  nature's  law. 

And,  that  she  died,  we  only  have  to  show 

The  mortal  part  of  her  she  left  below  : 

The  rest,  so  smooth,  so  suddenly  she  went, 

Look'd  hke  translation  through  the  firmament^ 

Qr,  Hke  the  fiery  car  on  the  third  errand  sent. 

O  happy  soul !  if  thou  canst  view  from  high^ 

Where  thou  art  all  intelligence,  all  eye, 

If  looking  up  to  God,  or  down  to  us. 

Thou  find'st  that  any  way  be  pervious. 

Survey  the  ruins  of  thy  house,  and  see 

Thy  widow'd,  and  thy  orphan  family : 

Look  on  thy  tender  pledges  left  behind  ; 

And,  if  thou  canst  a  vacant  minute  find 

From  heavenly  joys,  that  interval  afibrd 

To  thy  sad  children,  and  thy  mourning  lord. 

See  how  they  grieve,  mistaken  in  their  love, 

And  shed  a  beam  of  comfort  from  above ; 

Give  them,  as  much  as  mortal  eyes  can  bear, 

A  transient  view  of  thy  full  glories  there ; 

That  they  with  moderate  sorrow  may  sustain 

And  mollify  their  losses  in  thy  gain. 

Or  else  divide  the  grief ;  for  such  thou  wert. 

That  should  not  all  relations  bear  a  part. 

It  were  enough  to  break  a  single  heart. 

Let  this  suffice  :  nor  thou,  great  saint,  refuse 
This  humble  tribute  of  no  vulgar  muse : 
Who,  not  by  cares,  or  wants,  or  age  depress'd, 
Stems  a  wild  deluge  with  a  dauntless  breast ; 
And  dares  to  sing  thy  praises  in  a  clime 
Where  vice  triumphs,  and  virtue  is  a  crime  t    \y 
Where  e'en  to  draw  the  picture  of  thy  mind,   ir 
Is  satire  on  the  most  of  human  kind : 
Take  it,  while  yet  'tis  praise ;  before  my  rage. 
Unsafely  just,  break  loose  on  this  bad  age ; 
So  bad,  that  thou  thyself  hadst  no  defence 
From  vice,  but  barely  by  departing  hence. 

Be  what,  and  where  thou  art :  to  wish  thy  place, 
Were,  in  the  best,  presumption  more  than  grace. 
26* 


286  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

Thy  relics  (such  thy  works  of  mercy  are) 

Have,  in  this  poem,  been  my  holy  care. 

As  earth  thy  body  keeps,  thy  soul  the  sky, 

.So  shall  this  verse  preserve  thy  memory ; 

For  thou  shalt  make  it  live,  because  it  sings  of  thee. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  AMYNTAS. 

A  PASTORAL  ELEGY. 

'TWAS  on  a  joyless  and  a  gloomy  mom, 

Wet  was  the  grass,  and  hung  with  pearls  the  thorn ; 

When  Damon,  who  designed  to  pass  the  day 

With  hounds  and  horns,  and  chase  the  flying  prey, 

Rose  early  from  his  bed  ;  but  soon  he  found 

The  welkin  pitch'd  with  sullen  clouds  around, 

An  eastern  wind,  and  dew  upon  the  ground. 

Thus  while  he  stood,  and  sighing  did  survey 

The  fields,  and  cursed  the  ill  omens  of  the  day, 

He  saw  Menalcas  come  with  heavy  pace ; 

Wet  were  his  eyes,  and  cheerless  was  his  face : 

He  wrung  his  hands,  distracted  with  his  care. 

And  sent  his  voice  before  him  from  afar. 

"  Return  (he  cried),  return,  unhappy  swain. 

The  spongy  clouds  are  fill'd  with  gathering  rain : 

The  promise  of  the  day  not  only  cross'd. 

But  e'en  the  spring,  the  spring  itself  is  lost. 

Amyntas — oh  ! " — he  could  not  speak  the  rest, 

Nor  needed,  for  presaging  Damon  guess'd. 

Equal  with  Heaven  young  Damon  loved  the  boy, 

The  boast  of  Nature,  both  his  parents*  joy. 

His  graceful  form  revolving  in  his  mind ; 

So  great  a  genius,  and  a  soul  so  kind. 

Gave  sad  assurance  that  his  fears  were  true ; 

Too  well  the  envy  of  the  gods  he  knew  : 

For  when  their  gifts  too  lavishly  are  placed, 

Soon  they  repent,  and  will  not  make  them  last. 

For  sure  it  was  too  bountiful  a  dole. 

The  mother's  features,  and  the  father's  soul. 

Then  thus  he  cried  :  "  The  morn  bespoke  the  news*. 

The  morning  did  her  cheerful  light  diffuse  : 

But  see  how  suddenly  she  changed  her  face 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  287 

And  brought  on  clouds  and  rain,  the  day's  disgrace ; 

Just  such,  Amyntas,  was  thy  promised  race. 

What  charms  adorn'd  thy  youth,  where  Nature  smiled, 

And  more  than  man  was  given  us  in  a  child ! 

His  infancy  was  ripe  :  a  soul  sublime 

In  years  so  tender  that  prevented  time  : 

Heaven  gave  him  all  at  once  ;  then  snatch'd  away, 

Ere  mortals  all  his  beauties  could  survey : 

Just  like  the  flower  that  buds  and  withers  in  a  day." 

MENALCAS. 

The  mother,  lovely,  though  with  grief  oppressed, 
Keclined  his  dying  head  upon  her  breast. 
The  mournful  family  stood  all  around  ; 
One  groan  was  heard,  one  universal  sound  ; 
All  were  in  floods  of  tears  and  endless  sorrow  drown'd. 
So  dire  a  sadness  sat  on  every  look, 
E'en  Death  repented  he  had  given  the  stroke. 
He  grieved  his  fatal  work  had  been  ordained, 
But  promised  length  of  life  to  those  who  yet  remained. 
The  mother's  and  her  eldest  daughter's  grace. 
It  seems,  had  bribed  him  to  prolong  their  space. 
The  father  bore  it  with  undaunted  soul, 
Like  one  who  durst  his  destiny  control : 
yet  with  becoming  grief  he  bore  his  part, 
Besign'd  his  son,  but  not  resign'd  his  heart. 
Patient  as  Job  ;  and  may  he  live  to  see, 
Like  him,  a  new  increasing  family  ! 

DAMON. 

Such  is  my  wish,  and  such  my  prophecy, 
For  yet,  my  friend,  the  beauteous  mould  remains  ; 
Long  may  she  exercise  her  fruitful  pains ! 
But,  ah  !  with  better  hap,  and  bring  a  race 
More  lasting,  and  endued  with  equal  grace  ! 
Equal  she  may,  but  farther  none  can  go  : 
For  he  was  all  that  was  exact  below. 


Damon,  behold  yon  breaking  purple  cloud  ; 
Hear'st  thou  not  hymns  and  songs  divinely  loud  ] 
There  mounts  Amyntas  ;  the  young  cherubs  play 
About  their  god-like  mate,  and  sing  him  on  his  way. 
He  cleaves  the  liquid  air,  behold,  he  flies. 
And  every  moment  gains  upon  the  skies. 


288  ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 

The  new-come  guest  admires  the  ethereal  state, 

The  sapphire  portal,  and  the  golden  gate ; 

And  now  admitted  in  the  shining  throng, 

He  shows  the  passport  which  he  brought  along. 

His  passport  is  his  innocence  and  grace. 

Well  known  to  all  the  natives  of  the  place. 

Now  sing,  ye  joyful  angels,  and  admire 

Your  brother's  voice  that  comes  to  mend  your  choir: 

Sing  you,  while  endless  tears  our  eyes  bestow ; 

For  like  Amyntas  none  is  left  below. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  VERY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN. 

He  who  could  view  the  book  of  destiny, 
And  read  whatever  there  was  writ  of  thee, 

0  charming  youth,  in  the  first  opening  page, 
So  many  graces  in  so  green  an  age. 

Such  wit,  such  modesty,  such  strength  of  mind, 

A  soul  at  once  so  manly,  and  so  kind  ; 

"Would  wonder,  when  he  turn'd  the  volume  o'er. 

And  after  some  few  leaves  should  find  ^lo  more, 

Nought  but  a  blank  remain,  a  dead  void  space, 

A  step  of  life  that  promised  such  a  race. 

We  must  not,  dare  not  think,  that  Heaven  began 

A  child,  and  could  not  finish  him  a  man  ; 

Reflecting  what  a  mighty  store  was  laid 

Of  rich  materials,  and  a  model  made : 

The  cost  already  furnish'd  ;  so  bestow'd. 

As  more  was  never  to  one  soul  allow'd : 

Yet  after  this  profusion  spent  in  vain, 

Nothing  but  mouldering  ashes  to  remain ; 

1  guess  not,  lest  I  split  upon  the  shelf. 

Yet  durst  I  guess.  Heaven  kept  it  for  himself ; 
And  giving  us  the  use,  did  soon  recal. 
Ere  we  could  spare,  the  mighty  principal. 
Thus  then  he  disappear'd,  was  rarified ; 
For  'tis  improper  speech  to  say  he  died  : 
He  was  exhaled  ;  his  great  Creator  drew 
His  spirit,  as  the  sun  the  morning  dew. 
'Tis  sin  produces  death  ;  and  he  had  none. 
But  the  taint  Adam  left  on  every  son. 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  289 

He  added  not,  he  was  so  pure,  so  good, 
'Twas  but  the  original  forfeit  of  his  blood : 
And  that  so  little,  that  the  river  ran 
More  clear  than  the  corrupted  fount  began. 
Nothing  remain'd  of  the  first  muddy  clay ; 
The  length  of  course  had  wash'd  it  in  the  way : 
So  deep,  and  yet  so  clear,  we  might  behold 
The  gravel  bottom,  and  that  bottom  gold. 

As  such  we  loved,  admired,  almost  adored, 
Gave  all  the  tribute  mortals  could  aflford. 
Perhaps  we  gave  so  much,  the  powers  above 
Grew  angry  at  our  superstitious  love : 
For  when  we  more  than  human  homage  pay, 
The  charming  cause  is  justly  snatch'd  away. 

Thus  was  the  crime  not  his,  but  ours  alone ; 
And  yet  we  murmur  that  he  went  so  soon  ; 
Though  miracles  are  short  and  rarely  shown. 

Hear  then,  ye  mournful  parents,  and  divide 
That  love  in  many,  which  in  one  was  tied. 
That  individual  blessing  is  no  more, 
But  multiplied  in  your  remaining  store. 
The  flame  's  dispersed,  but  does  not  all  expire ; 
The  sparkles  blaze,  though  not  the  globe  of  fire. 
Love  him  by  parts,  in  all  your  numerous  race, 
And  from  those  parts  form  one  collected  grace ; 
Then,  when  you  have  refined  to  that  degree, 
Imagine  all  in  one,  and  think  that  one  is  he. 


UPON  YOUNG  MASTER  ROGEES.  ^ 

Op  gentle  blood,  his  parents'  only  treasure,  ^ 

Their  lasting  sorrow,  and  their  vanish'd  pleasure,      ' 
Adorn'd  with  features,  virtues,  wit,  and  grace,  ■ 

A  large  provision  for  so  short  a  race ;  \ 

More  moderate  gifts  might  have  prolong'd  his  date^ 
Too  early  fitted  for  a  better  state ; 
But,  knowing  heaven  his  home,  to  shun  delay, 
He  leap'd  o'er  age,  and  took  the  shortest  way. 


290  ELEGIES   AND  EPITAPHS. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OE  MR.  PURCELL. 

(set  to  music  by  dr.  blow.) 

Mark  how  the  lark  and  linnet  sing ; 
With  rival  notes 
They  strain  their  warbling  throats, 
To  welcome  in  the  spring. 
But  in  the  close  of  night, 
When  Bhilomel  begins  her  heavenly  lay, 
They  cease  their  mutual  spite, 
Drink  in  her  music  with  dehght, 
And,  list'ning,  silently  obey. 

So  ceased  the  rival  crew,  when  PurceU  came ; 
They  sung  no  more,  or  only  sung  his  fame : 
Struck  dumb,  they  all  admired  the  god-like  man : 
The  god-hke  man, 
Alas  !  too  soon  retired. 
As  he  too  late  began. 
We  beg  not  hell  our  Orpheus  to  restore : 
Had  he  been  there, 
Their  sovereign's  fear 
Had  sent  him  back  before. 
The  power  of  harmony  too  well  they  knew : 
He  long  ere  this  had  tuned  their  jarring  sphere, 
And  left  no  hell  below. 

The  heavenly  choir,  who  heard  his  notes  from  high, 
Let  down  the  scale  of  music  from  the  sky : 

They  handed  him  along. 
And  all  the  way  he  taught,  and  all  the  way  they  sung. 
Ye  brethren  of  the  lyre,  and  tuneful  voice, 
Lament  his  lot ;  but  at  your  own  rejoice  : 
Now  live  secure,  and  linger  out  your  days  ; 
The  gods  are  pleased  alone  with  Purcell's  lays, 

Nor  know  to  mend  their  choice. 


ON  THE  LADY  WHITMORE. 

Fair,  kind,  and  true  ;  a  treasure  each  alone, 
A  wife,  a  mistress,  and  a  friend  in  one. 
Rest  in  this  tomb,  raised  at  thy  husbsind's  cost^ 
Here  sadly  summing,  what  he  had,  and  lost. 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS.  291 

Come,  virgins,  ere  in  equal  bands  ye  join, 
Come  first,  and  offer  at  her  sacred  shrine ; 
Pray  but  for  half  the  virtues  of  this  wife,     * 
Compound  for  all  the  rest,  with  longer  hfe  ; 
And  wish  your  vows,  like  hers,  may  be  return'd. 
So  loved  when  living,  and  when  dead  so  mourn'd. 


ON  SIR  PALMES  FAIRBONE'S  TOMB 

IN  WESTMINSTER-ABBEY. 

Ye  sacred  relics,  which  your  marble  keep, 

Here,  undisturb'd  by  wars,  in  quiet  sleep  : 

Discharge  the  trust,  which,  when  it  was  below, 

Fairbone's  undaunted  soul  did  undergo, 

And  be  the  town's  Palladium  from  the  foe. 

AUve  and  dead  these  walls  he  will  defend : 

Great  actions  great  examples  must  attend. 

The  Candian  siege  his  early  valour  knew. 

Where  Turkish  blood  did  his  young  hands  imbrue. 

From  thence  returning  with  deserved  applause. 

Against  the  Moors  his  well-flssh'd  sword  he  draws  ; 

The  same  the  courage,  and  the  same  the  cause. 

His  youth  and  age,  his  hfe  and  death,  combine. 

As  in  some  great  and  regular  design. 

All  of  a  piece  throughout,  and  all  divine. 

Still  nearer  heaven  his  virtues  shone  more  bright. 

Like  rising  flames  expanding  in  their  height ; 

The  martyr's  glory  crown'd  the  soldier's  fight. 

More  bravely  British  general  never  fell. 

Nor  general's  death  was  e'er  revenged  so  well ; 

Which  his  pleased  eyes  beheld  before  their  close, 

Follow'd  by  thousand  victims  of  his  foes. 

To  his  lamented  loss  for  time  to  come 

His  pious  widow  consecrates  this  tomb. 


ON  THE  MONUMENT  OF  MISS  MARY  FRAMPTON, 

WHO  DIED  AT  BATH,  SEPT.  6,  1698,  AND  IS  THERE  INTERRED, 

Below  this  marble  monument  is  laid 
All  that  heaven  wants  of  this  celestial  maid. 
Preserve,  O  sacred  tomb,  thy  trust  consign'd  ; 
The  mould  was  made  on  purpose  for  the  mind : 
U2 


292 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 


And  she  would  lose,  if,  at  the  latter  day, 
\  One  atom  could  be  mix'd  of  other  clay. 
Such  were  the  features  of  her  heavenly  face, 
Her  limbs  were  form'd  with  such  harmonious  grace  ; 
So  faultless  was  the  frame,  as  if  the  whole 
Had  been  an  emanation  of  the  soul ; 
Which  her  own  inward  symmetry  reveal'd  ; 
And  like  a  picture  shone,  in  glass  anneal'd : 
Or  like  the  sun  eclipsed,  with  shaded  light, 
Too  piercing,  else,  to  be  sustained  by  sight : 
Each  thought  was  visible  that  roll'd  within, 
As  through  a  crystal  case  the  figured  hours  are  seen. 
And  Heaven  did  this  transparent  veil  provide, 
Because  she  had  no  guilty  thought  to  hide. 
All  white,  a  virgin-saint,  she  sought  the  skies  ; 
For  marriage,  though  it  sullies  not,  it  dyes. 
High  though  her  wit,  yet  humble  was  her  mind ; 
As  if  she  could  not,  or  she  would  not  find 
How  much  her  worth  transcended  all  her  kind. 
/  Yet  she  had  learn'd  so  much  of  heaven  below, 
j  That,  when  arrived,  she  scarce  had  more  to  know ; 
But  only  to  refresh  the  former  hint. 
And  read  her  Maker  in  a  fairer  print. 
So  pious,  as  she  had  no  time  to  spare 
For  human  thoughts,  but  was  confined  to  prayer : 
Yet  in  such  charities  she  pass'd  the  day, 
'Twas  wondrous  how  she  found  an  hour  to  pray. 
A  soul  so  calm,  it  knew  not  ebbs  or  flows. 
Which  passion  could  but  curl,  not  discompose.* 
A  female  softness,  with  a  manly  mind  : 
A  daughter  duteous,  and  a  sister  kind : 
In  sickness  patient,  and  in  death  resigned. 


EPITAPH  ON  MRS.  MARGAHET  PASTON 

OP  BURNINGHAM  IN  NORFOLK. 

So  fair,  so  young,  so  innocent,  so  sweet. 

So  ripe  a  judgment,  and  so  rare  a  wit, 

Require  at  least  an  age  in  one  to  meet. 

In  her  they  met ;  but  long  they  could  not  stay, 

*Twas  gold  too  .fine  to  mix  without  allay. 


1 


ELEGIES  AND  EPITAPHS. 


Heaven's  image  was  in  her  so  well  expressed,  ) 
Her  very  sight  upbraided  all  the  rest ;  / 

Too  justly  ravish'd  from  an  age  hke  this, 
Now  she  is  gone,  the  world  is  of  a  piece. 


ON  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  MARQUIS  OF 
WIJS  CHESTER. 

He  who  in  impious  times  undaunted  stood, 
And  'midst  rebellion  durst  be  just  and  good 
Whose  arms  asserted,  and  whose  sufferings  more 
Confirm'd  the  cause  for  which  he  fought  before, 
Rests  here,  rewarded  by  an  heavenly  prince  ; 
For  what  his  earthly  could  not  recompense, 
Pray,  reader,  that  such  times  no  more  appear : 
Or,  if  they  happen,  learn  true  honour  here. 
Ask  of  this  age's  faith  and  loyalty. 
Which  to  preserve  them.  Heaven  confined  in  thee. 
Few  subjects  could  a  king  like  thine  deserve : 
And  fewer  such  a  king  so  well  could  serve. 
Blest  king,  blest  subject,  whose  exalted  state 
By  sufferings  rose,  and  gave  the  law  to  fate. 
Such  souls  are  rare,  but  mighty  patterns  given  i 
To  earth,  and  meant  for  ornaments  to  heaven.    ' 


UNDER  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  JOHN  MILTON, 

PREFIXED  TO   *  PARADISE  LOST.' 

Three  Poets  in  three  distant  ages  born, 
Greece,  Italy,  and  England,  did  adorn. 
.  The  first  in  loftiness  of  thought  surpass'd ;         \^ 
The  next  in  majesty ;  in  both  the  last.  \ 

The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go  ;  / 

To  make  a  third,  she  join'd  the  former  two. 


27 


294 


TALES  FROM  CHAUCER: 

BEING 

PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  j    THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP. 

THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  |    THE  WIFE  OF  BATH's  TALE. 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON. 


TO  HER  GRACE  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND, 

"WITH    THE    POEM   OF   PALAMON    AND    ARCITE. 

Madam, 
The  bard  who  first  adom'd  our  native  tongue, 
Tuned  to  his  British  lyre  this  ancient  song : 
Which  Homer  might  without  a  blush  rehearse, 
And  leaves  a  doubtful  palm  in  Virgil's  verse : 
He  match' d  their  beauties,  where  they  most  excel ; 
Of  love  sung  better,  and  of  arms  as  well. 

Vouchsafe,  illustrious  Ormond,  to  behold 
What  power  the  charms  of  beauty  had  of  old ; 
Nor  wonder  if  such  deeds  of  arms  were  done. 
Inspired  by  two  fair  eyes,  that  sparkled  like  your  own. 

If  Chaucer  by  the  best  idea  wrought. 
And  poets  can  divine  each  other's  thought, 
The  fairest  nymph  before  his  eyes  he  set ; 
And  then  the  fairest  was  Plantagenet ; 
Who  three  contending  princes  made  her  prize, 
And  ruled  the  rival  nations  with  her  eyes : 
Who  left  immortal  trophies  of  her  fame. 
And  to  the  noblest  order  gave  the  name. 

Like  her,  of  equal  kindred  to  the  throne, 
You  keep  her  conquests,  and  extend  your  own : 
As  when  the  stars,  in  their  ethereal  race, 
At  length  have  roll'd  around  the  liquid  space, 
At  certain  periods  they  resume  their  place, 
From  the  same  point  of  heaven  their  course  advance, 
And  move  in  measures  of  their  former  dance ; 
Thus,  after  length  of  ages,  she  returns. 
Restored  in  you,  and  the  same  place  adorns; 


TO  HER  GRACE  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORMOHD.  295 

Or  you  perform  her  office  in  tlie  sphere, 

Born  of  her  blood,  and  make  a  new  Platonic  year. 

0  true  Plantagenet,  0  race  divine, 
(For  beauty  still  is  fatal  to  the  line) 
Had  Chaucer  lived  that  angel-face  to  view, 
Sure  he  had  drawn  his  Emily  from  you ;  "11 

Or  had  you  lived  to  judge  the  doubtful  right, 
Your  noble  Palamon  had  been  the  knight;  '^^■■ 

And  conquering  Theseus  from  his.  side  had  sent 
Your  generous  lord,  to  guide  the  Theban  government. 

Time  shall  accomplish  that ;  and  I  shall  see 
A  Palamon  in  him,  in  you  an  Emily. 

Already  have  the  fates  your  path  prepared, 
And  sure  presage  your  future  sway  declared : 
When  westward,  like  the  sun,  you  took  your  way, 
And  from  benighted  Britain  bore  the  day. 
Blue  Triton  gave  the  signal  from  the  shore^ 
The  ready  Nereids  heard,  and  swam  before 
To  smooth  the  seas ;  a  soft  Etesian  gale 
But  just  inspired,  and  gently  swell'd  the  sail ; 
Portunus  took  his  turn,  whose  ample  hand 
Heaved  up  his  lighten' d  keel,  and  sunk  the  sand, 
And  steer'd  the  sacred  vessel  safe  to  land. 
The  land,  if  not  restrained,  had  met  your  way 
Projected  out  a  neck,  and  jutted  to  the  sea. 
Hibernia,  prostrate  at  your  feet,  adored. 
In  you,  the  pledge  of  her  expected  lord ; 
Due  to  her  isle ;  a  venerable  name ; 
His  father  and  his  grandsire  known  to  fame ; 
Awed  by  that  house,  accustom'd  to  command, 
The  sturdy  kerns  in  due  subjection  stand ; 
Nor  bear  the  reins  in  any  foreign  hand. 
At  your  approach,  they  crowded  to  the  port ; 
And  scarcely  landed,  you  create  a  court : 
As  Ormond's  harbinger,  to  you  they  run ; 
For  Venus  is  the  promise  of  the  sun. 
The  waste  of  civil  wars,  their  towns  destroy'd, 
Pales  unhonour'd,  Ceres  unemploy'd, 
Were  all  forgot ;  and  one  triumphant  day 
Wiped  all  the  tears  of  three  campaigns  away. 
Blood,  rapines,  massacres,  were  cheaply  bought^ 
So  mighty  recompense  your  beauty  brought. 

As  when  the  dove  returning  bore  the  mark 
Of  earth  restored  to  the  long-labouring  ark. 


296      TO  HER  GRACE  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND. 

The  relics  of  mankind,  secure  of  rest, 

Ope'd  every  window  to  receive  the  guest. 

And  the  fair  bearer  of  the  message  bless'd ; 

So,  when  you  came,  with  loud  repeated  cries, 

The  nation  took  an  omen  from  your  eyes. 

And  God  advanced  his  rainbow  in  the  skies, 

To  sign  inviolable  peace  restored ; 

The  saints,  with  solemn  shouts,  proclaim'd  the  new  accord 

When  at  your  second  coming  you  appear, 
(For  I  foretel  that  millenary  year) 
The  sharpen'/!  share  shall  vex  the  soil  no  more. 
But  earth  unbidden  shall  produce  her  store ; 
The  land  shall  laugh,  the  circling  ocean  smile. 
And  Heaven's  indulgence  bless  the  holy  isle. 
Heaven  from  all  ages  has  reserved  for  you 
That  happy  clime,  which  venom  never  knew ; 
Or  if  it  had  been  there,  your  eyes  alone 
Have  power  to  chase  all  poison  but  their  own. 

Now  in  this  interval,  which  fate  has  cast 
Betwixt  your  future  glories,  and  your  past, 
This  pause  of  power,  'tis  Ireland's  hour  to  mourn ; 
While  England  celebrates  your  safe  return. 
By  which  you  seem  the  seasons  to  command, 
And  bring  our  summers  back  to  their  forsaken  land. 

The  vanquished  isle  our  leisure  must  attend. 
Till  the  fair  blessing  we  vouchsafe  to  send ; 
Nor  can  we  spare  you  long,  though  often  we  may  lend. 
The  dove  was  twice  employ'd  abroad,  before 
The  world  was  dried,  and  she  retui-n'd  no  more. 

Nor  dare  we  trust  so  soffc  a  messenger, 
New  from  her  sickness,  to  that  northern  air ; 
Rest  here  a  while  your  lustre  to  restore, 
That  they  may  see  you,  as  you  shone  before ; 
For  yet,  the  eclipse  not  wholly  past,  you  wade 
Through  some  remains,  and  dimness  of  a  shade. 

A  subject  in  his  prince  may  claim  a  right. 
Nor  suffer  him  with  strength  impair'd  to  fight ; 
Till  force  returns,  his  ardour  we  restrain. 
And  curb  his  warlike  wish  to  cross  the  main. 

Now  past  the  danger,  let  the  learn'd  begin 
The  inquiry,  where  disease  could  enter  in ; 
How  those  malignant  atoms  forced  their  way. 
What  in  the  faultless  frame  they  found  to  make  their 
prey? 


TO  HER  GRACE  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ORMOND.      297 

"WTiere  every  element  was  weigh'd  so  well, 
That  Heaven  alone,  who  mix'd  the  mass,  could  tell 
Which  of  the  four  ingredients  could  rebel ; 
And  where,  imprison'd  in  so  sweet  a  cage, 
A  soul  might  well  be  pleased  to  pass  an  age. 

And  yet  the  fine  materials  made  it  weak ;  i 

Porcelain,  by  being  pure,  is  apt  to  break : 
Ev'n  to  your  breast  the  sickness  durst  aspire ; 
And,  forced  from  that  fair  temple  to  retire, 
Profanely  set  the  holy  place  on  fire. 
In  vain  your  lord,  like  young  Vespasian,  mourn' d, 
When  the  fierce  fiames  the  sanctuary  burn'd : 
And  I  prepared  to  pay  in  verses  rude 
A  most  detested  act  of  gratitude :. 
Ev'n  this  had  been  your  elegy,  which  now 
Is  oiFer'd  for  your  health,  the  table  of  my  vow. 

Your  angel  sure  our  Morley's  mind  inspired, 
To  find  the  remedy  your  ill  required ; 
As  once  the  Macedon,  by  Jove's  decree. 
Was  taught  to  dream  an  herb  for  Ptolemy ; 
Or  Heaven,  which  had  such  over-cost  bestowed, 
As  scarce  it  could  afibrd  to  flesh  and  blood, 
So  liked  the  frame,  he  would  not  work  anew, 
To  save  the  charges  of  another  you. 
Or  by  his  middle  science  did  he  steer, 
And  saw  some  great  contingent  good  appear 
Well  worth  a  miracle  to  keep  you  here : 
And  for  that  end,  preserved  the  precious  mould, 
Which  all  the  future  Ormonds  was  to  hold ; 
And  meditated  in  his  better  mind 
An  heir  from  you,  which  may  redeem  the  failing  kind 

Blest  be  the  power  which  has  at  once  restored 
The  hopes  of  lost  succession  to  your  lord ; 
Joy  to  the  first  and  last  of  each  degree, 
Virtue  to  courts,  and,  what  I  long'd  to  see, 
To  you  the  Graces,  and  the  Muse  to  me. 

O  daughter  of  the  rose,  whose  cheeks  unite 
The  differing  titles  of  the  red  and  white ; 
Who  heaven's  alternate  beauty  well  display. 
The  blush  of  morning,  and  the  milky  way ; 
Whose  face  is  paradise,  but  fenced  from  sin ; 
For  God  in  either  eye  has  placed  a  cherubiru 

All  is  your  lord's  alone ;  even  absent,  he 
Employs  the  care  of  chaste  Penelope. 
27* 


298  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

For  him  you  waste  in  tears  your  widow'd  hours, 

For  him  your  curious  needle  paints  the  flowers ; 

Such  works  of  old  imperial  dames  were  taught; 

Such,  for  Ascanius,  fair  Elissa  wrought. 

The  soft  recesses  of  your  hours  improve 

The  three  fair  pledges  of  your  happy  love : 

All  other  parts  of  pious  duty  done, 

You  owe  your  Ormond  nothing  but  a  son ; 

To  fill  in  future  times  his  father's  place, 

And  wear  the  garter  of  his  mother's  race. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE; 

OR,  THE  knight's  TALE. 
BOOK  I. 

In  days  of  old,  there  lived,  of  mighty  fame, 

A  valiant  prince ;  and  Theseus  was  his  name : 

A  chief,  who  more  in  feats  of  arms  exceU'd, 

The  rising  nor  the  setting  sun  beheld : 

Of  Athens  he  was  lord ;  much  land  he  won, 

And  added  foreign  countries  to  his  crown ; 

In  Scythia  with  the  warrior  queen  he  strove, 

Whom  first  by  force  he  conquer'd,  then  by  love ; 

He  brought  in  triumph  back  the  beauteous  dame, 

With  whom  her  sister,  fair  Emilia,  came. 

With  honour  to  his  home  let  Theseus  ride, 

With  love  to  friend,  and  fortune  for  his  gmde, 

And  his  victorious  army  at  his  side. 

I  pass  their  warlike  pomp,  their  proud  array, 

Their  shouts,  their  songs,  their  welcome  on  the  way: 

But,  were  it  not  too  long,  I  would  recite 

The  feats  of  Amazons,  the  fatal  fight 

Betwixt  the  hardy  queen  and  hero  knight ; 

The  town  besieged,  and  how  much  blood  it  cost 

The  female  army,  and  the  Athenian  host ; 

The  spousals  of  Hippolita  the  queen ; 

AVhat  tilts  and  tourneys  at  the  feast  were  seen ; 

The  storm  at  their  return,  the  ladies'  fear : 

But  these,  and  other  things,  I  must  forbear. 

The  field  is  spacious  I  design  to  sow. 

With  oxen  far  unfit  to  draw  the  plough : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  299 

The  remnant  of  my  tale  is  of  a  length 

To  tire  your  patience,  and  to  waste  my  strength ; 

And  trivial  accidents  shall  be  forborne, 

That  others  may  have  time  to  take  their  turn ; 

As  was  at  first  enjoin'd  us  by  mine  host: 

That  he  whose  tale  is  best,  and  pleases  most, 

Should  win  his  supper  at  our  common  cost. 

And  therefore  where  I  left,  I  will  pursue 
This  ancient  story,  whether  false  or  true, 
In  hope  it  may  be  mended  with  a  new. 
The  prince  I  mention'd,  full  of  high  renown, 
In  this  array  drew  near  the  Athenian  town ; 
When  in  his  pomp  and  utmost  of  his  pride. 
Marching,  he  chanced  to  cast  his  eye  aside, 
And  saw  a  choir  of  mourning  dames,  who  lay 
By  two  and  two  across  the  common  way : 
At  his  approach  they  raised  a  rueful  cry. 
And  beat  their  breasts,  and  held  their  hands  on  high. 
Creeping  and  crying,  till  they  seized  at  last 
His  courser's  bridle,  and  his  feet  embraced. 

Tell  me,  said  Theseus,  what  and  whence  you  are,  ^ 
And  why  this  funeral  pageant  you  prepare  ?  fT 

Is  this  the  welcome  of  my  worthy  deeds, 
To  meet  my  triumph  in  ill-omened  weeds  1 
Or  envy  you  my  praise,  and  would  destroy 
With  grief  my  pleasures,  and  pollute  my  joy  ? 
Or  are  you  injured,  and  demand  relief  ? 
Name  your  request,  and  I  will  ease  your  grief. 

The  most  in  years  of  all  the  mourning  train 
Began  ;  (but  swooned  first  away  for  pain) 
Then  scarce  recover  d  spoke :  Nor  envy  we 
Thy  great  renown,  nor  grudge  thy  victory ; 
'Tis  thine,  0  king,  the  afflicted  to  redress, 
And  fame  has  fill'd  the  world  with  thy  success  : 
We  wretched  women  sue  for  that  alone, 
Which  of  thy  goodness  is  refused  to  none ; 
Let  fall  some  drops  of  pity  on  our  grief. 
If  what  we  beg  be  just,  and  we  deserve  relief : 
For  none  of  us,  who  now  thy  grace  implore. 
But  held  the  rank  of  sovereign  queen  before ; 
Till,  thanks  to  giddy  Chance,  which  never  bears. 
That  mortal  bliss  should  last  for  length  of  years, 
She  cast  us  headlong  from  our  high  estate. 
And  here  in  hope  of  thy  return  we  wait : 


300  PALAMON   AND  ARCITB. 

And  long  have  waited  in  the  temple  nigh, 

Built  to  the  gracious  goddess  Clemency. 

But  reverence  thou  the  jjower  whose  name  it  bears, 

Reheve  the  oppress'd,  and  wipe  the  widow's  tears. 

I,  wretched  I,  have  other  fortune  seen, 

The  wife  of  Capaneus,  and  once  a  queen  : 

At  Thebes  he  fell ;  cursed  be  the  fatal  day ! 

And  all  the  rest  thou  seest  in  this  array, 

To  make  their  moan,  their  lords  in  battle  lost 

Before  that  town  besieged  by  our  confederate  host : 

But  Creon,  old  and  impious,  who  commands 

The  Theban  city,  and  usurps  the  lands. 

Denies  the  rites  of  funeral  fires  to  those 

Whose  breathless  bodies  yet  he  calls  his  foes. 

Unburn'd,  unburied,  on  a  heap  they  lie ; 

Such  is  their  fate,  and  such  is  tyranny ; 

No  friend  has  leave  to  bear  away  the  dead. 

But  with  their  lifeless  limbs  his  hounds  are  fed. 

At  this  she  shriek'd  aloud  ;  the  mournful  train 

Echo'd  her  grief,  and,  grovelling  on  the  plain, 

"With  groans,  and  hands  upheld,  to  move  his  mind, 

Besought  his  pity  to  their  helpless  kind  ! 

The  prince  was  touch'd,  his  tears  began  to  flow, 
And,  as  his  tender  heart  would  break  in  two, 
He  sigh'd  ;  and  could  not  but  their  fate  deplore, 
So  wretched  now,  so  fortunate  before. 
Then  lightly  from  his  lofty  steed  he  flew. 
And  raising  one  by  one  the  suppliant  crew, 
To  comfort  each,  full  solemnly  he  swore, 
That  by  the  faith  which  knights  to  knighthood  bore. 
And  whate'er  else  to  chivalry  belongs. 
He  would  not  cease,  till  he  revenged  their  wrongs : 
That  Greece  should  see  perform'd  what  he  declared  ; 
And  cruel  Creon  find  his  just  reward. 
He  said  no  more,  but,  shunning  all  delay. 
Rode  on  ;  nor  enter'd  Athens  on  his  way : 
But  left  his  sister  and  his  queen  behind. 
And  waved  his  royal  banner  in  the  wind : 
Where  in  an  argent  field  the  god  of  war 
Was  drawn  triumphant  on  his  iron  car  ; 
Red  was  his  sword,  and  shield,  and  whole  attire, 
And  all  the  godhead  seem'd  to  glow  with  fire  : 
Ev'n  the  ground  glitter'd  where  the  standard  flew, 
And  the  green  grass  was  dyed  to  sanguine  hue. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  301 

High  on  his  pointed  lance  his  pennon  bore 

His  Cretan  fight,  the  conquer'd  Minotaur : 

The  soldiers  shout  around  with  generous  rage, 

And  in  that  victory  their  own  presage. 

He  praised  their  ardour  ;  inly  pleased  to  see 

His  host  the  flower  of  Grecian  chivalry. 

All  day  he  march'd,  and  all  the  ensuing  night, 

And  saw  the  city  with  returning  light. 

The  process  of  the  war  1  need  not  tell, 

How  Theseus  conquer'd,  and  how  Creon  fell : 

Or  after,  how  by  storm  the  walls  were  woia. 

Or  how  the  victor  sack'd  and  burn'd  the  town : 

How  to  the  ladies  he  restored  again 

The  bodies  of  their  lords  in  battle  slain  : 

And  with  what  ancient  rites  they  were  interred  ; 

All  these  to  fitter  times  shall  be  deferr'd  : 

I  spare  the  widows'  tears,  their  woeful  cries, 

And  howling  at  their  husbands'  obsequies  ; 

How  Theseus  at  these  funerals  did  assist, 

And  with  what  gifts  the  mourning  dames  dismiss'd. 

Thus  when  the  victor  chief  had  Creon  slain. 
And  conquer'd  Thebes,  he  pitch'd  upon  the  plain 
His  mighty  camp,  and,  when  the  day  return'd. 
The  country  wasted,  and  the  hamlets  bum'd, 
And  left  the  pillagers,  to  rapine  bred, 
Without  control  to  strip  and  spoil  the  dead. 

There,  in  a  heap  of  slain,  among  the  rest 
Two  youthful  knights  they  found  beneath  a  load  oppressed 
Of  slaughter'd  foes,  whom  first  to  death  they  sent, 
The  trophies  of  their  strength,  a  bloody  monument. 
Both  fair,  and  both  of  royal  blood  they  seem'd, 
Whom  kinsmen  to  the  crown' the  heralds  deem'd  ; 
That  day  in  equal  arms  they  fought  for  fame  ; 
Their  swords,  their  shields,  their  surcoats  were  the  same. 
Close  by  each  other  laid,  they  press'd  the  ground. 
Their  manly  bosoms  pierced  with  many  a  ghastly  wound ; 
Nor  well  alive,  nor  wholly  dead  they  were. 
But  some  faint  signs  of  feeble  life  appear : 
The  wandering  breath  was  on  the  wing  to  part, 
Weak  was  the  pulse  and  hardly  heaved  the  heart. 
These  two  were  sisters'  sons  ;  and  Arcite  one, 
Much  famed  in  fields,  with  valiant  Palamon. 
From  these  their  costly  arms  the  spoilers  rent^ 
And  softly  both  convey 'd  to  Theseus'  tent : 


302  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Whom  known  of  Creon's  line,  and  cured  with  care, 

He  to  his  city  sent  as  prisoners  of  the  war, 

Hopeless  of  ransom,  and  condemned  to  lie 

In  durance,  doom'd  a  lingering  death  to  die. 

This  done,  he  march'd  away  with  warlike  sound, 

And  to  his  Athens  turn'd  with  laurels  crown' d, 

Where  happy  long  he  Hved,  much  loved,  and  more  renowned. 

But  in  a  tower,  and  never  to  be  loosed, 

The  woeful  captive  kinsmen  are  enclosed : 

Thus  year  by  year  they  pass,  and  day  by  day, 
Till  once,  'twas  on  the  morn  of  cheerful  May, 
The  young  Emilia,  fairer  to  be  seen 
Than  the  fair  lily  on  the  flowery  green. 
More  fresh  than  May  herself  in  blossoms  new, 
For  with  the  rosy  colour  strove  her  hue, 
Waked,  as  her  custom  was,  before  the  day. 
To  do  the  observance  due  to  sprightly  May : 
Por  sprightly  May  commands  our  youth  to  keep 
The  vigils  of  her  night,  and  breaks  their  sluggard  sleep : 
Each  gentle  breast  with  kindly  warmth  she  moves ; 
Inspires  new  flames,  revives  extinguish'd  loves. 
In  this  remembrance  Emily  ere  day 
Arose,  and  dress'd  herself  in  rich  array ; 
Fresh  as  the  month,  and  as  the  morning  fair : 
Adown  her  shoulders  fell  her  length  of  hair : 
A  riband  did  the  braided  tresses  bind. 
The  rest  was  loose,  and  wanton'd  in  the  wind : 
Aurora  had  but  newly  chased  the  night, 
And  purpled  o'er  the  sky  with  blushing  light, 
When  to  the  garden-walk  she  took  her  way, 
To  sport  and  trip  along  in  cool  of  day, 
And  offer  maiden  vows  in  honour  of  the  May 

At  every  turn,  she  made  a  little  stand. 
And  thrust  among  the  thorns  her  lily  hand 
To  draw  the  rose,  and  every  rose  she  drew 
She  shook  the  stalk,  and  brush'd  away  the  dew : 
Then  party-colour' d  flowers  of  white  and  red 
She  wove,  to  make  a  garland  for  her  head : 
This  done,  she  sung  and  carolled  out  so  clear. 
That  men  and  angels  might  rejoice  to  hear : 
Even  wondering  Philomel  forgot  to  sing  : 
And  learn'd  from  her  to  welcome  in  the  spring. 

The  tower,  of  which  before  was  mention  made, 
Within  whose  keep  the  captive  knights  were  laid, 


PALAMON  AND  AACITE.  303 

Built  of  a  large  extent,  and  strong  withal, 
Was  one  partition  of  the  palace  wall ; 
The  garden  was  enclosed  within  the  square, 
Where  young  Emilia  took  the  morning  air. 

It  happen'd  Palamon,  the  prisoner  knight, 
Eestless  of  woe,  arose  before  the  light, 
And  with  his  jailor's  leave  desired  to  iDreathe 
An  air  more  wholesome  than  the  damps  beneath. 
This  granted,  to  the  tower  he  took  his  way, 
Cheer'd  with  the  promise  of  a  glorious  day : 
Then  cast  a  languishing  regard  around, 
And  saw,  with  hateful  eyes,  the  temples  crown'd 
With  golden  spires,  and  all  the  hostile  ground. 
He  sigh'd,  and  turn'd  his  eyes,  because  he  knew 
'Twas  but  a  larger  jail  he  had  in  view  : 
Then  look'd  below,  and  from  the  castle's  height 
Beheld  a  nearer  and  more  pleasing  sight : 
The  garden,  which  before  he  had  not  seen, 
In  spring's  new  livery  clad  of  white  and  green, 
Fresh  flowers  in  white  parterres,  and  shady  walks  between. 
This  view'd,  but  not  enjoy'd,  with  arms  across 
He  stood,  reflecting  on  his  country's  loss ; 
Himself  an  object  of  the  public  scorn, 
And  often  wish'd  he  never  had  been  born. 
At  last,  (for  so  his  destiny  required,) 
With  walking  giddy,  and  with  thinking  tired, 
He  through  a  httle  window  cast  his  sight. 
Though  thick  of  bars,  that  gave  a  scanty  light : 
But  ev'n  that  glimmering  served  him  to  descry 
The  inevitable  charms  of  Emily. 

Scarce  had  he  seen,  but  seized  with  sudden  smart, 
Stung  to  the  quick,  he  felt  it  at  his  heart ; 
Struck  bUnd  with  overpowering  light  he  stood, 
Then  started  back  amazed,  and  cried  aloud. 

Young  Arcite  heard  ;  and  up  he  ran  with  haste. 
To  help  his  friend,  and  in  his  aims  embraced ; 
And  ask'd  him  why  he  look'd  so  deadly  wan, 
And  whence  and  how  his  change  of  cheer  began  ? 
Or  who  had  done  the  ofience  ?    But  if,  said  he, 
Your  grief  alone  is  hard  captivity ; 
For  love  of  heaven  with  patience  undergo 
A  cureless  ill,  since  fate  will  have  it  so  : 
So  stood  our  horoscope  in  chains  to  he, 
And  Saturn  in  the  dungeon  of  the  sky, 


304  PALAMON   AND    ARCITE. 

Or  other  baleful  aspect,  ruled  our  birth, 
When  all  the  friendly  stars  were  u  uder  earth : 
Whatever  betides,  by  destiny  'tis  d  one  ; 
And  better  bear  like  men,  than  vainly  seek  to  shun. 
Nor  of  my  bonds,  said  Palamon  again, 
Nor  of  unhappy  planets  I  complain  : 
But  when  my  mortal  anguish  caused  my  cry, 
That  moment  I  was  hurt  through  either  eye  ; 
Pierced  with  a  random  shaft,  I  fiint  away, 
And  perish  with  insensible  decay  : 
A  glance  of  some  new  goddess  gave  the  wound, 
Whom,  like  Actseon,  unaware  I  found. 
Look  how  she  walks  along  yon  shady  space. 
Not  Juno  moves  with  more  majestic  grace ; 
And  all  the  Cyprian  queen  is  in  her  face. 
If  thou  art  Venus,  (for  thy  charms  confess 
That  face  was  form'd  in  heaven,)  nor  art  thou  less  ; 
Disguised  in  habit,  undisguised  in  shape  ; 
Oh,  help  us  captives  from  our  chains  to  scape  ! 
But  if  our  doom  be  pass'd  in  bonds  to  lie 
For  life,  and  in  a  loathsome  dungeon  die  ; 
Then  be  thy  wrath  appeased  -v^ith  our  disgrace, 
And  show  compassion  to  the  Theban  race, 
Oppressed  by  tyrant  power  !     While  yet  he  spoke, 
Arcite  on  Emily  had  fix'd  his  look  ; 
The  fatal  dart  a  ready  passage  found, 
And  deep  within  his  heart  infixed  the  wound : 
So  that  if  Palamon  were  wounded  sore, 
Arcite  was  hurt  as  much  as  he,  or  more : 
Then  from  his  inmost  soul  he  sigh'd,  and  said, 
The  beauty  I  behold  has  struck  mo  dead : 
Unknowingly  she  strikes  ;  and  kills  by  chance  ; 
Poison  is  in  her  eyes,  and  death  in  every  glance. 
Oh,  I  must  ask — nor  ask  alone,  but  move 
ller  mind  to  mercy,  or  must  die  for  love. 
Thus  Arcite  :  and  thus  Palamon  replies, 
(Eager  his  tone,  and  ardent  were  his  eyes), 
rfpeak'st  thou  in  earnest,  or  in  jesting  vein  ? 
Jesting,  said  Arcite,  suits  but  ill  with  pain. 
It  suits  far  worse,  (said  Palamon  again, 
And  bent  his  brows)  with  men  who  honour  weigh, 
Their  faith  to  break,  their  friendship  to  betray ; 
But  worst  with  thee,  of  noble  lineage  born. 
My  kinsman,  and  in  arms  my  brother  sworn. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  305 

Have  we  not  plighted  each  our  holy  oath, 
That  one  should  be  the  common  good  of  both  ? 
One  soul  should  both  inspire,  and  neither  prove 
His  fellow's  hindrance  in  pursuit  of  love  ? 
To  this  before  the  gods  we  gave  our  hands, 
And  nothing  but  our  death  can  break  the  bands. 
This  binds  thee,  then,  to  further  my  design, 
As  I  am  bound  by  vow  to  further  thine  : 
Nor  canst,  nor  dar'st  thou,  traitor,  on  the  plain 
Appeach  my  honour,  or  thine  own  maintain, 
Since  thou  art  of  my  council,  and  the  friend 
Whose  faith  I  trust,  and  on  whose  care  depend : 
And  wouldst  thou  court  my  lady's  love,  which  I 
Much  rather  than  release  would  choose  to  die  1 
But  thou,  false  Arcite,  never  shalt  obtain 
Thy  bad  pretence  ;  I  told  thee  first  my  pain : 
For  first  my  love  began  ere  thine  was  born ; 
Thou  as  my  council,  and  my  brother  sworn, 
Art  bound  to  assist  my  eldership  of  right. 
Or  justly  to  be  deem'd  a  perjured  knight. 

Thus  Palamon :  but  Arcite  with  disdain 
In  haughty  language  thus  replied  again : 
Forsworn  thyself:  the  traitor's  odious  name 
I  first  return,  and  then  disprove  thy  claim. 
If  love  be  passion,  and  that  passion  nursed 
With  strong  desires,  I  loved  the  lady  first. 
Canst  thou  pretend  desire,  whom  zeal  inflamed 
To  worship,  and  a  power  celestial  named  ? 
Thine  was  devotion  to  the  blest  above, 
I  saw  the  woman,  and  desired  her  love  : 
First  own'd  my  passion,  and  to  thee  commend 
The  important  secret,  as  my  chosen  friend. 
Suppose  (which  3'et  I  grant  not)  thy  desire 
A  moment  elder  than  my  rival  fire  ; 
Can  chance  of  seeing  first  thy  title  prove  1 
And  know'st  thou  not,  no  law  is  made  for  love  ? 
Law  is  to  things  which  to  free  choice  relate  ; 
Love  is  not  in  our  choice,  but  in  our  fate  ; 
Laws  are  but  positive  ;  love's  power,  we  see, 
Is  Nature's  sanction,  and  her  first  decree. 
Each  day  we  break  the  bond  of  human  laws 
For  love,  and  vindicate  the  common  cause. 
Laws  for  defence  of  civil  rights  are  placed, 
Love  throws  the  fences  down  and  makes  a  general  waste : 
28 


306  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Maids,  widows,  wives,  without  distinction  fall ; 

The  sweeping  deluge,  love,  comes  on  and  covers  alL 

If  then  the  laws  of  friendship  I  transgress, 

I  keep  the  greater,  while  I  break  the  less ; 

And  both  are  mad  alike,  since  neither  can  possess. 

Both  hopeless  to  be  ransom'd,  njever  more 

To  see  the  sun,  but  as  he  passes  o'er. 

Like  ^sop'^  hounds  contending  for  the  bone, 
Each  pleaded  right,  and  would  be  lord  alone : 
The  fruitless  fight  continued  all  the  day, 
A  cur  came  by,  and  snatch'd  the  prize  way. 
As  courtiers  therefore  justle  for  a  grant. 
And  when  they  break  their  friendship,  plead  their  want> 
So  thou,  if  fortune  will  thy  suit  advance, 
Love  on,  nor  envy  me  my  equal  chance : 
For  I  must  love,  and  am  resolved  to  try 
My  fate,  or  failing  in  the  adventure  die. 

Great  was  their  strife,  which  hourly  was  renewed, 
Till  each  with  mortal  hate  his  rival  view'd  : 
Now  friends  no  more,  nor  walking  hand  in  hand ; 
But  when  they  met,  they  made  a  surly  stand  ; 
And  glared  like  angry  lions  as  they  pass'd. 
And  wish'd  that  every  look  might  be  their  last. 

It  chanced  at  length,  Pirithous  came  to  attend 
This  worthy  Theseus,  his  famihar  friend ; 
Their  love  in  early  infancy  began. 
And  rose  as  childhood  ripen'd  into  man, 
Companions  of  the  war ;  and  loved  so  well, 
That  when  one  died,  as  ancient  stories  teU, 
His  feUow  to  redeem  him  went  to  hell. 

But  to  pursue  my  tale  ;  to  welcome  home 
His  warlike  brother  is  Pirithous  come : 
Arcite  of  Thebes  was  known  in  arms  long  since, 
And  honour'd  by  this  young  Thessalian  prince. 
Theseus  to  gratify  his  friend  and  guest, 
Who  made  our  Arcite's  freedom  his  request. 
Restored  to  liberty  the  captive  knight. 
But  on  these  hard  conditions  I  recite : 
That  if  hereafter  Arcite  should  be  found 
Within  the  compass  of  Athenian  ground, 
By  day  or  night,  or  on  whate'er  pretence, 
His  head  should  pay  the  forfeit  of  the  offence. 
To  this  Pirithous  for  his  friend  agreed, 
And  on  his  promise  was  the  prisoner  freed. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCTTE.  307 

Unpleased  and  pensive  hence  he  takes  his  way, 
At  his  own  peril ;  for  his  life  must  pay. 
Who  now  but  Arcite  mourns  his  bitter  fate, 
Finds  his  dear  purchase,  and  repents  too  late  ? 
AYhat  have  I  gain'd,  he  said,  in  prison  pent, 
If  I  but  change  my  bonds  for  banishment  ? 
And  banish'd  from  her  sight,  I  suffer  moro 
In  freedom,  than  I  felt  in  bonds  before  ; 
Forced  from  her  presence,  and  condemn'd  to  live ; 
Unwelcome  freedom,  and  unthank'd  reprieve  : 
Heaven  is  not,  but  where  Emily  abides, 
And  where  she's  absent,  aU  is  hell  besides. 
Next  to  my  day  of  birth,  was  that  accursed, 
Which  bound  my  friendship  to  Pirithous  first : 
Had  I  not  known  that  prince,  I  still  had  been 
In  bondage,  and  had  still  Emiha  seen : 
For  though  I  never  can  her  grace  deserve, 
'Tis  recompense  enough  to  see  and  serve. 

0  Palamon,  my  kinsman  and  my  friend, 
How  much  more  happy  fates  thy  love  attend ! 
Thine  is  the  adventure ;  thine  the  victory : 
Well  has  thy  fortune  turn'd  the  dice  for  thee : 
Thou  on  that  angel's  face  may'st  feed  thine  eyes, 
In  prison,  no  ;  but  bhssful  paradise  ! 

Thou  daily  seest  that  sun  of  beauty  shine, 
And  lov'st  at  least  in  love's  extremest  line. 

1  mourn  in  absence,  love's  eternal  night ; 

And  who  can  tell  but  since  thou  hast  her  sight, 
And  art  a  comely,  young,  and  valiant  knight, 
Fortune  (a  various  power)  may  cease  to  frown. 
And  by  some  ways  unknown  thy  wishes  crown  1 
But  I,  the  most  forlorn  of  human-kind. 
Nor  help  can  hope,  nor  remedy  can  find ; 
But  doom'd  to  drag  my  loathsome  Hfe  in  care. 
For  my  reward,  must  end  it  in  despair. 
Fire,  water,  air,  and  earth,  and  force  of  fates, 
That  governs  all,  and  Heaven  that  all  creates, 
Nor  art,  nor  nature's  hand  can  ease  my  grief; 
Nothing  but  death,  the  wretch's  last  relief : 
Then  farewell  youth,  and  all  the  joys  that  dwell, 
With  youth  and  life,  and  life  itself  farewell. 

But  why,  alas !  do  mortal  men  in  vain 
Of  fortune,  fate,  or  Providence  complain  1 


308  PALAMOi^  AND  ARCITE. 

God  gives  us  wliat  he  knows  our  wants  require, 
And  better  things  than  those  which  we  desire : 
Some  pray  for  riches — riches  they  obtain  ; 
But,  watch'd  by  robbers,  for  their  wealth  are  slain: 
Some  pray  from  prison  to  be  freed  ;  and  come, 
When  guilty  of  their  vows,  to  fall  at  home ; 
Murder'd  by  those  they  trusted  with  their  life, 
A  favour'd  servant,  or  a  bosom  wife. 
Such  dear-bought  blessings  happen  every  day, 
Because  we  know  not  for  what  things  to  pray. 
Like  drunken  sots  about  the  street  we  roam : 
Well  knows  the  sot  he  has  a  certain  home : 
Yet  knows  not  how  to  find  the  uncertain  place. 
And  blunders  on,  and  staggers  every  pace. 
Thus  all  seek  happiness  ;  but  few  can  find, 
For  far  the  greater  part  of  men  are  blind. 
This  is  my  case,  who  thought  our  utmost  good 
Was  in  one  word  of  freedom  understood  : 
The  fatal  blessing  came :  from  prison  free, 
I  starve  abroad,  and  lose  the  sight  of  Emily. 

Thus  Arcite :  but  if  Arcite  thus  deplore 
His  sufferings,  Palamon  yet  suffers  more. 
For  when  he  knew  his  rival  freed  and  gone, 
He  swells  with  wrath  ;  he  makes  outrageous  moan : 
He  frets,  he  fumes,  he  stares,  he  stamps  the  ground ; 
The  hollow  tower  with  clamours  rings  around  : 
With  briny  tears  he  bathed  his  fetter'd  feet. 
And  droop'd  all  o'er  with  agony  of  sweat. 
Alas  !  he  cried  !  I,  wretch  in  prison  pine, 
Too  happy  rival,  while  the  fruit  is  tnine : 
Thou  liv'st  at  large,  thou  draw'st  thy  native  air. 
Pleased  with  thy  freedom,  proud  of  my  despair : 
Thou  may'st,  since  thou  hast  youth  and  courage  join'd, 
A  sweet  behaviour  and  a  sohd  mind, 
Assemble  ours,  and  aU  the  Theban  race. 
To  vindicate  on  Athens  thy  disgrace ; 
And  after,  by  some  treaty  made,  possess 
Fair  Emily,  the  pledge  of  lasting  peace. 
So  thine  shall  be  the  beauteous  prize,  while  I 
Must  languish  in  despair,  in  prison  die. 
Thus  all  the  advantage  of  the  strife  is  thine. 
Thy  portion  double  joys,  and  double  sorrows  mine. 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  fired  his  soul. 
And  his  face  kmdled  like  a  burning  coal : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCTTB.  309 

Now  cold  despair,  succeeding  in  her  stead, 
To  livid  paleness  turns  the  glowing  red. 
His  blood,  scarce  liquid,  creeps  within  his  veins, 
Like  water  which  the  freezing  wind  constrains. 
Then  thus  he  said  : — ^Eternal  Deities, 
Who  rule  the  world  with  absolute  decrees, 
And  write  whatever  time  shall  bring  to  pass. 
With  pens  of  adamant,  on  plates  of  brass  ; 
What,  is  the  race  of  human  kind  your  care 
Beyond  what  all  his  fellow-creatures  are  ? 
He  with  the  rest  is  liable  to  pain, 
And  like  the  sheep,  his  brother-beast,  is  slain. 
Cold,  hunger,  prisons,  ills  without  a  cure. 
All  these  he  must,  and  guiltless  oft  endure ; 
Or  does  your  justice,  power,  or  prescience  fail. 
When  the  good  suffer,  and  the  bad  prevail  ] 
What  worse  to  wretched  virtue  could  befal, 
If  fate  or  giddy  fortune  govern'd  all  ? 
Nay,  worse  than  other  beasts  is  our  estate ; 
Them,  to  pursue  their  pleasures,  you  create  ; 
We,  bound  by  harder  laws,  must  curb  our  will. 
And  your  commands,  not  our  desires,  fulfil ; 
Then,  when  the  creature  is  unjustly  slain, 
Yet  after  death  at  least  he  feels  no  pain  ; 
But  man  in  hfe  surcharged  with  woe  before, 
Not  freed  when  dead,  is  doom'd  to  suffer  more. 
A  serpent  shoots  his  sting  at  unaware ; 
An  ambush'd  thief  forelays  a  traveller  ; 
The  man  lies  murder'd,  while  the  thief  and  snake, 
One  gains  the  thickets,  and  one  thrids  the  brake. 
This  let  divines  decide ;  but  well  I  know, 
Just,  or  unjust,  I  have  my  share  of  woe, 
Through  Saturn,  seated  in  a  luckless  place. 
And  Juno's  wrath,  that  persecutes  my  race ; 
Or  Mars  and  Venus,  in  a  quartile,  move 
My  pangs  of  jealousy  for  Arcite's  love. 

Let  Palamon  oppress'd  in  bondage  mourn^ 
While  to  his  exiled  rival  we  return. 
By  this,  the  sun,  declining  from  his  height. 
The  day  had  shorten'd  to  prolong  the  night : 
The  lengthen'd  night  gave  length  of  misery 
Both  to  the  captive  lover  and  the  free. 
For  Palamon  in  endless  prison  mourns, 
And  Arcite  forfeits  hfe  if  he  returns : 
28* 


310  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

The  banisVd  never  hopes  his  love  to  see, 
Nor  hopes  the  captive  lord  his  liberty : 
'Tis  hard  to  say  who  suffers  greater  pains  :  ^ 
One  sees  his  love,  but  cannot  break  his  chains : 
One  free,  and  all  his  motions  uncontroll'd, 
Beholds  whate'er  he  would,  but  what  he  would  behold. 
Judge  as  you  please,  for  I  will  haste  to  tell 
What  fortune  to  the  banish'd  knight  befel. — 
When  Arcite  was  to  Thebes  return'd  again, 
The  loss  of  her  he  loved  renew'd  his  pain  ; 
What  could  be  worse,  than  never  more  to  see 
His  life,  his  soul,  his  charming  Emily  ? 
He  raved  with  all  the  madness  of  despair, 
He  roar'd,  he  beat  his  breast,  he  tore  his  hair. 
Dry  sorrow  in  his  stupid  eyes  appears. 
For,  wanting  nourishment,  he  wanted  tears : 
His  eye-balls  in  their  hollow  sockets  sink, 
Bereft  of  sleep  he  loathes  his  meat  and  drink. 
He  withers  at  his  heart,  and  looks  as  wan 
As  the  pale  spectre  of  a  murder'd  man : 
That  pale  turns  yellow,  and  his  face  receives 
The  faded  hue  of  sapless  boxen  leaves : 
In  solitary  groves  he  makes  his  moan. 
Walks  early  out,  and  ever  is  alone : 
Nor,  mix'd  in  mirth,  in  youthful  pleasures  shares, 
But  sighs  when  songs  and  instruments  he  hears. 
His  spirits  are  so  low,  his  voice  is  drown'd. 
He  hears  as  from  afar,  or  in  a  swound, 
Like  the  deaf  murmurs  of  a  distant  sound  : 
Uncomb'd  his  locks,  and  squalid  his  attire, 
Unlike  the  trim  of  love  and  gay  desire ; 
But  full  of  museful  mopings,  which  presage 
The  loss  of  reason,  and  conclude  in  rage. 
This  when  he  had  endured  a  year  and  more, 
Nor  wholly  changed  from  what  he  was  before. 
It  happened  once,  that,  slumbering  as  he  lay, 
He  dream'd,  (his  dream  began  at  break  of  day) 
That  Hermes  o'er  his  head  in  air  appeared, 
And  with  soft  words  his  drooping  spirits  cheer'd ; 
His  hat,  adorn'd  with  wings,  disclosed  the  god, 
And  in  his  hand  he  bore  the  sleep-compelling  rod : 
Such  as  he  seem'd  when,  at  his  sire's  command, 
On  Argus'  head  he  laid  the  snaky  wand. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  311 

Arise,  he  said,  to  conquering  Athens  go, 

There  fate  appoints  an  end  to  all  thj  woe. 

The  fright  awaken'd  Arcite  with  a  start, 

Against  his  bosom  bounced  his  heaving  heart ; 

But  soon  he  said,  with  scarce  recover'd  breath, 

And  thither  will  I  go,  to  meet  my  death, 

Sure  to  be  slain  ;  but  death  is  my  desire, 

Since  in  Emilia's  sight  I  shall  expire. 

By  chance  he  spied  a  mirror  while  he  spoke. 

And  gazing  there  beheld  his  alter'd  look  ; 

Wondering,  he  saw  his  features  and  his  hue 

So  much  were  changed,  that  scarce  himself  he  knew. 

A  sudden  thought  then  starting  in  his  mind, 

Since  I  in  Arcite  cannot  Arcite  find,      ^ 

The  world  may  search  in  vain  with  all  their  eyes, 

But  never  penetrate  through  this  disguise. 

Thanks  to  the  change  which  grief  and  sickness  gire, 

In  low  estate  I  may  securely  live. 

And  see  unknown  my  mistress  day  by  day. 

He  said  ;  and  clothed  himself  in  coarse  array : 

A  labouring  hind  in  show ;  then  forth  he  went, 

And  to  the  Athenian  towers  his  journey  bent : 

One  squire  attended  in  the  same  disguise. 

Made  conscious  of  his  master's  enterprise. 

Arrived  at  Athens,  soon  he  came  to  court, 

Unknown,  unquestion'd  in  that  thick  resort ; 

Profifering  for  hire  his  service  at  the  gate. 

To  drudge,  draw  water,  and  to  run  or  wait. 

So  fair  befel  him,  that  for  little  gain 
He  served  at  first  Emilia's  chamberlain  ; 
And,  watchful  all  advantages  to  spy, 
Was  still  at  hand,  and  in  his  master's  eye  ; 
And  as  his  bones  were  big,  and  sinews  strong, 
Refused  no  toil  that  could  to  slaves  belong ; 
But  from  deep  wells  with  engines  water  drew, 
And  used  his  noble  hands  the  wood  to  hew. 
He  pass'd  a  year  at  least  attending  thus 
On  Emily,  and  call'd  Philostratus. 
But  never  was  there  man  of  his  degree 
So  much  esteem'd,  so  well  beloved  as  he. 
So  gentle  of  condition  was  he  known, 
That  through  the  court  his  courtesy  was  blown : 
All  think  him  worthy  of  a  greater  place. 
And  recommend  him  to  the  royal  grace ; 


312  PALAMON   AND   ARCITE. 

That  exercised  within  a  higher  sphere, 
His  virtues  more  conspicuous  might  appear. 
Thus  by  the  general  voice  was  Arcite  praised, 
And  by  great  Theseus  to  high  favour  raised ; 
Among  his  menial  servants  first  enroll'd, 
And  largely  entei-tain'd  with,  sums  of  gold  : 
Besides  v/hat  secretly  from  Thebes  was  sent, 
Of  his  own  income,  and  his  annual  rent : 
This  well  employ'd.  he  purchased  friends  and  fame, 
But  cautiously  conceal'd  from  whence  it  came. 
Thus  for  three  years  he  lived  with  large  increase, 
In  arms  of  honour,  and  esteem  in  peace ; 
To  Theseus'  person  he  was  ever  near  ; 
And  Theseus  for  his  virtues  held  him  dear* 


BOOK  IL 

While  Arcite  lives  in  bliss,  the  story  turns 
"Where  hopeless  Palamon  in  prison  mourns. 
For  six  long  years  immured,  the  captive  knight 
Had  dragg'd  his  chains,  and  scarcely  seen  the  light : 
Lost  liberty  and  love  at  once  he  bore : 
His  prison  pain'd  him  much,  his  passion  more : 
Nor  dares  he  hope  his  fetters  to  remove, 
Nor  ever  wishes  to  be  free  from  love. 

But  when  the  next  revolving  year  was  run. 
And  May  within  the  Twins  received  the  sun. 
Were  it  by  chance,  or  forceful  destiny, 
AVhich  forms  in  causes  first  whate'er  shall  be, 
Assisted  by  a  friend,  one  moonless  night, 
This  Palamon  from  prison  took  his  flight : 
A  pleasant  beverage  he  prepared  before, 
Of  wine  and  honey  mix'd  with  added  store 
Of  opium  ;  to  his  keeper  this  he  brought. 
Who  swallow'd  Ainaware  the  sleepy  draught, 
And  snored  secure  till  morn,  his  senses  bound 
In  slumber,  and  in  long  oblivion  drown'd. 
Short  was  the  night,  and  careful  Palamon 
Sought  the  next  covert  ere  the  rising  sun. 
A  thick-spread  forest  near  the  city  lay, 
To  this  with  lengthened  strides  he  took  his  way, 
(For  far  he  could  not  fly,  and  fear'd  the  day.) 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  313 

Safe  from  pursuit,  he  meant  to  shun  the  light, 

Till  the  brown  shadows  of  the  friendly  night 

To  Thebes  might  favour  his  intended  flight. 

When  to  his  country  come,  his  next  design 

Was  all  the  Theban  race  in  arms  to  join, 

And  war  on  Theseus,  till  he  lost  his  life. 

Or  won  the  beauteous  Emily  to  wife. 

Thus  while  his  thoughts  the  lingering  day  beguile, 

To  gentle  Arcite  let  us  turn  our  style ; 

Who  little  dreamt  how  nigh  he  was  to  care, 

Till  treacherous  fortune  caught  him  in  the  snare. 

The  morning  lark,  the  messenger  of  day, 

Saluted  in  her  song  the  morning  gray ; 

And  soon  the  sun  arose  with  beams  so  bright, 

That  all  the  horizon  laugh'd  to  see  the  joyous  sight ; 

He  with  his  tepid  rays  the  rose  renews, 

And  licks  the  drooping  leaves,  and  dries  the  dews ; 

When  Arcite  left  his  bed,  resolved  to  pay 

Observance  to  the  month  of  merry  May : 

Forth  on  his  fiery  steed  betimes  he  rode. 

That  scarcely  prints  the  turf  on  which  he  trod : 

At  ease  he  seem'd,  and,  prancing  o'er  the  plains, 

Turn'd  only  to  the  grove  his  horse's  rt>ins. 

The  grove  I  named  before ;  and,  lighted  there, 

A  woodbine  garland  sought  to  crown  his  hair  ; 

Then  turn'd  his  face  against  the  rising  day, 

And  raised  his  voice  to  welcome  in  the  May. — 

For  thee,  sweet  month,  the  groves  green  liveries  wear. 
If  not  the  first,  the  fairest  of  the  year : 
For  thee  the  Graces  lead  the  dancing  hours, 
And  Nature's  ready  pencil  paints  the  flowers : 
When  thy  short  reign  is  past,  the  feverish  sun 
The  sultry  tropic  fears,  and  moves  more  slowly  on. 
So  may  thy  tender  blossoms  fear  no  blight, 
Nor  goats  with  venom'd  teeth  thy  tendrils  bite. 
As  thou  shalt  guide  my  wandering  feet  to  find 
The  fragrant  greens  I  seek,  my  brows  to  bind. 

His  vows  address'd,  within  the  grove  he  stray'd. 
Till  fate  or  fortune  near  the  place  convey'd 
His  steps  where  secret  Palamon  was  laid. 
Full  little  thought  him  of  the  gentle  knight. 
Who,  flying  death,  had  there  conceal'd  his  flight, 
In  brakes  ftnd  brambles  hid,  and  shunning  mortal  sight. 


314  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

And  less  he  knew  him  for  his  hated  foe, 

But  fear'd  him  as  a  man  he  did  not  know. 

But  as  it  has  been  said  of  ancient  years, 

The  fields  are  full  of  eyes,  and  woods  have  ears ; 

For  this  the  wise  are  ever  on  their  guard. 

For,  unforeseen,  (they  say,)  is  unprepared. 

Uncautious  Arcite  thought  himself  alone, 

And  less  than  all  suspected  Palamon ; 

Who,  listening,  heard  him,  while  he  searched  the  grove, 

And  loudly  sung  his  roundelay  of  love  : 

But  on  the  sudden  stopp'd,  and  silent  stood, — 

As  lovers  often  muse,  and  change  their  mood  ; 

Now  high  as  heaven,  and  then  as  low  as  hell ; 

Now  up,  now  down,  as  buckets  in  a  well ; 

For  Venus,  like  her  day,  will  change  her  cheer, 

And  seldom  shall  we  see  a  Friday  clear. — 

Thus  Arcite  having  sung,  with  alter'd  hue 

Sunk  on  the  ground,  and  from  his  bosom  drew 

A  desperate  sigh,  accusing  heaven  and  fate, 

And  angry  Juno's  unrelenting  hate. 

Cursed  be  the  day  when  first  I  did  appear ; 

Let  it  be  blotted  from  the  calendar. 

Lest  it  pollute  the  month,  and  poison  all  the  year. 

Still  will  the  jealous  Queen  pursue  our  race  ? 

Cadmus  is  dead,  the  Theban  city  was  : 

Yet  ceases  not  her  hate  :  for  all  who  come 

From  Cadmus  are  involved  in  Cadmus'  doom. 

I  suffer  for  my  blood  :  unjust  decree  ! 

That  punishes  another's  crime  on  me. 

In  mean  estate  I  serve  my  mortal  foe, 

The  man  who  caused  my  country's  overthrow. 

This  is  not  all ;  for  Juno,  to  my  shame, 

Has  forced  me  to  forsake  my  former  name  ;  « 

Arcite  I  was,  Philostratus  I  am. 

That  side  of  heaven  is  all  my  enemy  ; 

Mars  ruin'd  Thebes  :  his  mother  ruin'd  me. 

Of  all  the  royal  race  remains  but  one 

Besides  myself,  the  unhappy  Palamon, 

Whom  Theseus  holds  in  bonds,  and  will  not  free; 

Without  a  crime,  except  his  kin  to  me. 

Yet  these,  and  all  the  rest,  I  could  endure  ;  ^^ 

For  love's  a  malady  without  a  cure  ;  ^j^^   ^ 

Fierce  Love  has  pierced  me  with  his  fiery  oart, 

He  fires  within,  and  hisses  at  my  heart. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  315 

Your  eyes,  fair  Emily,  my  fate  pursue ; 

I  suffer  for  the  rest,  I  die  for  you. 

Of  such  a  goddess  no  time  leaves  record, 

Who  bum'd  the  temple  where  she  was  adored  : 

And  let  it  burn,  I  never  will  complain, 

Pleased  with  my  sufferings,  if  you  knew  my  pain. 

At  this  a  sickly  qualm  his  heart  assail'd, 
His  ears  ring  inward,  and  his  senses  fail'd. 
No  word  miss'd  Palamon  of  all  he  spoke, 
But  soon  to  deadly  pale  he  changed  his  look : 
He  trembled  every  limb,  and  felt  a  smart, 
As  if  cold  steel  had  glided  through  his  heart ; 
Nor  longer  stood,  but  starting  from  his  place, 
Discover'd  stood,  and  show'd  his  hostile  face  : 
False  traitor  Arcite,  traitor  to  thy  blood, 
Bound  by  thy  sacred  oath  to  seek  my  good, 
Now  art  thou  found  forsworn,  for  Emily ; 
And  dar'st  attempt  her  love,  for  whom  I  die. 
So  hast  thou  cheated  Theseus  with  a  wile, 
Against  thy  vow,  returning  to  beguile 
Under  a  borrow'd  name :  as  false  to  me. 
So  false  thou  art  to  him  who  set  thee  free  : 
But  rest  assured,  that  either  thou  shalt  die. 
Or  else  renounce  thy  claim  in  Emily  ; 
For  though  unarm  d  I  am,  and  (freed  by  chance) 
Am  here  without  my  sword,  or  pointed  lance  : 
Hope  not,  base  man,  unquestioned  hence  to  go, 
For  I  am  Palamon,  thy  mortal  foe. 

Arcite,  who  heard  his  tale,  and  knew  the  man. 
His  sword  unsheathed,  and  fiercely  thus  began  : 
Now,  by  the  gods,  who  govern  heaven  above, 
"Wert  thou  not  weak  with  hunger,  mad  with  love. 
That  word  had  been  thy  last,  or  in  this  grove 
This  hand  should  force  thee  to  renounce  thy  love. 
The  surety  which  I  gave  thee,  I  defy : 
Fool,  not  to  know  that  love  endures  no  tie. 
And  Jove  but  laughs  at  lovers'  perjury. 
Know  I  will  serve  the  fair  in  thy  despite  ; 
But  since  thou  art  my  kinsman,  and  a  knight, 
Here,  have  my  faith,  to-morrow  in  this  grove 
Our  arms  shall  plead  the  titles  of  our  love : 
And  Heaven  so  help  my  right,  as  I  alone 
Will  come,  and  keep  the  cause  and  quarrel  both  un 
known. 


316  PALAMON  AND   ARCITE. 

With  anus  of  proof  both  for  myself  and  thee  ; 

Choose  thou  the  best,  and  leave  the  worst  to  me. 

And,  that  at  better  ease  thou  may'st  abide, 

Bedding  and  clothes  I  will  this  night  provide, 

And  needful  sustenance,  that  thou  may'st  be 

A  conquest  better  won,  and  worthy  me. 

His  promise  Palamon  accepts  ;  but  pray'd, 

To  keep  it  better  than  the  first  he  made. 

Thus  lair  they  parted  till  the  morrow's  dawn, 

For  each  had  laid  his  phghted  faith  to  pawn. 

Oh  Love !  thou  sternly  dost  thy  power  maintain, 

And  wilt  not  bear  a  rival  in  thy  reign, 

Tyrants  and  thou  all  fellowship  disdain. 

This  was  in  Arcite  proved,  and  Palamon, 

Both  in  despair,  yet  each  would  love  alone. 

Arcite  returu'd,  and,  as  in  honour  tied. 

His  foe  with  bedding,  and  with  food  supplied  ; 

Then,  ere  the  day,  two  suits  of  armour  sought, 

Which  borne  before  him  on  his  steed  he  brought ; 

Both  were  of  shining  steel,  and  wrought  so  pure, 

As  might  the  strokes  of  two  such  arms  endure. 

Now,  at  the  time,  and  in  the  appointed  place, 

The  challenger  and  challenged,  face  to  face. 

Approach  ;  each  other  from  afar  they  knew, 

And  from  afar  their  hatred  changed  their  hue. 

So  stands  the  Thracian  herdsman  with  his  spear. 

Full  in  the  gap,  and  hopes  the  hunted  bear. 

And  hears  him  rustling  in  the  wood,  and  sees 

His  course  at  distance  by  the  bending  trees  ; 

And  thinks.  Here  comes  my  mortal  enemy, 

And  either  he  must  fall  in  fight,  or  I : 

This  while  he  thinks,  he  lifts  aloft  his  dart ; 

A  generous  chilness  seizes  every  part : 

The  veins  pour  back  the  blood,  and  fortify  the  heart. 

Thus  pale  they  meet ;  their"  eyes  with  fury  burn  ; 
None  greets  ;  for  none  the  greeting  will  return : 
But  in  dumb  surliness,  each  arm'd  with  care 
His  foe  profess'd,  as  brother  of  the  war : 
Then  both,  no  moment  lost,  at  once  advance 
Against  each  other,  arm'd  with  sword  and  lance : 
They  lash,  they  foin,  they  pass,  they  strive  to  bore 
Their  corslets,  and  the  thinnest  parts  explore. 
Thus  two  long  hours  in  equal  arms  thev  stoo^ 
And,  wounded,  wound ;  till  both  were  bathed  in  blood ; 


r 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  317 


And  not  a  foot  of  ground  had  either  got, 

As  if  the  world  depended  on  the  spot. 

Fell  Arcite  like  an  angry  tiger  fared, 

And  like  a  lion  Palamon  appear'd  : 

Or,  as  two  boars,  whom  love  to  battle  draws, 

With  rising  bristles,  and  with  frothy  jaws, 

Their  adverse  breasts  with  tusks  oblique  they  wound  ; 

With  grunts  and  groans  the  forest  rings  around. 

So  fought  the  knights,  and  fighting  must  abide, 

Till  fate  an  umpire  sends  their  ditierence  to  decide. 

The  power  that  ministers  to  God's  decrees. 

And  executes  on  earth  what  Heaven  foresees, 

Call'd  Providence,  or  Chance,  or  Fatal  Sway, 

Comes  with  resistless  force,  and  finds  or  makes  her  way, 

Nor  kings,  nor  nations,  nor  united  power. 

One  moment  can  retard  the  appointed  hour. 

And  some  one  day,  some  wondrous  chance  appears, 

Which  happened  not  in  centuries  of  years : 

For  sure,  whate'er  we  mortals  hate,  or  love, 

Or  hope,  or  fear,  depends  on  powers  above ; 

They  move  our  appetites  to  good  or  ill, 

And  by  foresight  necessitate  the  will.  ^ 

In  Theseus  this  appears  ;  whose  youthful  joy 
Was  beasts  of  chace  in  forests  to  destroy ; 
This  gentle  knight,  inspired  by  jolly  May, 
Forsook  his  easy  couch  at  early  day. 
And  to  the  wood  and  wilds  pursued  his  way. 
Beside  him  rode  Hippolita  the  queen, 
And  Emily  attired  in  lively  green, 
With  horns,  and  hounds,  and  all  the  tuneful  cry, 
To  hunt  a  royal  hart  within  the  covert  nigh : 
And  as  he  follow'd  Mars  before,  so  now 
He  serves  the  goddess  of  the  silver  bow. 
The  way  that  Theseus  took  was  to  the  wood 
Where  the  two  knights  in  cruel  battle  stood : 
The  lawn  on  which  they  fought,  the  appointed  place 
In  which  the  uncoupled  hounds  began  the  chace. 
Thither  forth-right  he  rode  to  rouse  the  prey, 
That  shaded  by  the  fern  in  harbour  lay  ; 
And  thence  dislodged,  was  wont  to  leave  the  wood, 
For  open  fields,  and  cross  the  crystal  flood. 
Approach  d,  and  looking  underneath  the  sun, 
He  saw  proud  Arcite,  and  fierce  Palamon, 
29 


318  PALAMON  AND  AKCITE. 

In  mortal  battle  doubling  blow  on  blow ; 
Like  lightning  flamed  their  falchions  to  and  fro, 
And  shot  a  dreadful  gleam  ;  so  strong  they  strook, 
There  seem'd  less  force  required  to  fell  an  oak : 
He  gazed  with  wonder  on  their  equal  might, 
Look'd  eager  on,  but  knew  not  either  knight : 
Besolved  to  learn,  he  spurr'd  his  hery  steed 
With  goring  rowels  to  provoke  his  speed. 
The  minute  ended  that  began  the  race, 
So  soon  he  was  betwixt  'em  on  the  place  ; 
And  with  his  sword  unsheathed,  on  pain  of  life 
Commands  both  combatants  to  cease  their  strife : 
Then  with  imperious  tone  pursues  his  threat ; 
What  are  you  1  why  in  arms  together  met  ? 
How  dares  your  pride  presume  against  my  laws, 
As  in  a  listed  field  to  fight  your  cause  ? 
Unask'd  the  royal  grant ;  no  marshal  by. 
As  knightly  rites  require  ;  nor  judge  to  try? 
Then  Palamon,  with  scarce  recover'd  breath, 
Thus  hasty  spoke  :  We  both  deserve  the  death, 
And  both  would  die  ;  for  look  the  world  around, 
A  pair^so  wretched  is  not  to  be  found. 
Our  life 's  a  load  ;  encumber'd  with  the  charge. 
We  long  to  set  the  imprison'd  soul  at  large. 
Now,  as  thou  art  a  sovereign  judge,  decree 
The  rightful  doom  of  death  to  him  and  me  ; 
Let  neither  find  thy  grace  ;  for  grace  is  cruelty. 
Me  first,  oh,  kill  me  first ;  and  cure  my  woe  : 
Then  sheathe  the  sword  of  justice  on  my  foe  :  . 
Or  kill  him  first ;  for  when  his  name  is  heard, 
He  foremost  will  receive  his  due  reward^ 
Arcite  of  Thebes  is  he  ;  thy  mortal  foe; 
On  whom  thy  grace  did  liberty  bestow. 
But  first  contracted,  that  if  ever  found 
By  day  or  night  upon  the  Athenian  ground. 
His  head  should  pay  the  forfeit ;  see  return'd 
The  perjured  knight,  his  oath  and  honour  scorn'd, 
For  this  is  he,  who,  with  a  borrow'd  name 
And  profier'd  service,  to  thy  palace  came, 
Now  caird  Philostratus  :  retain'd  by  thee, 
A  traitor  trusted,  and  in  high  degree. 
Aspiring  to  the  bed  of  beauteous  Emily, 
My  part  remains  ;  from  Thebes  my  birth  I  owi^ 
And  call  myself  the  unhappy  Palamon.     '  - 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  319 

Think  me  not  like  that  man  ;  since  no  disgrace 

Can  force  me  to  renounce  the  honour  of  my  race. 

Know  me  for  what  I  am  :  1  broke  my  chain, 

Nor  promised  I  thy  prisoner  to  remain : 

The  love  of  liberty  with  life  is  given, 

And  life  itself  the  inferior  gift  of  Heaven. 

Thus  without  crime  I  fled  ;  but  farther  know, 

I,  with  this  Arcite,  am  thy  mortal  foe  : 

Then  give  me  death,  since  I  thy  life  pursue  ;  . 

For  safeguard  of  thyself,  death  is  my  due. 

More  would'st  thou  know  1     I  love  bright  Emily, 

And,  for  her  sake,  and  in  her  sight,  will  die  : 

But  kiU  my  rival  too  ;  for  he  no  less 

Deserves ;  and  I  thy  righteous  doom  will  bless, 

Assured  that  what  I  lose,  he  never  shall  possess. 
To  this  replied  the  stern  Athenian  prince, 

And  sourly  smiled  :  In  owning  your  offence 

You  judge  yourself ;  and  I  but  keep  record 

In  place  of  law,  while  you  pronounce  the  word. 

Take  your  desert,  the  death  you  have  decreed ; 

I  seal  your  doom,  and  ratify  the  deed  : 

By  Mars,  the  patron  of  my  arms,  you  die. 

He  said  ;  dumb  sorrow  seized  the  standers-by. 

The  queen  above  the  rest,  by  nature  good, 

(The  pattern  form*d  of  perfect  womanhood) 

For  tender  pity  wept :  when  she  began. 

Through  the  bright  quire  the  infectious  virtue  ran. 

All  dropp'd  their  tears,  even  the  contended  maid : 

And  thus  among  themselves  they  softly  said : 

What  eyes  can  suffer  this  unworthy  sight ! 

Two  youths  of  royal  blood,  renown'd  in  fight. 

The  mastership  of  heaven  in  face  and  mind. 

And  lovers,  far  beyond  their  faithless  kind : 

See  their  wide-streaming  wounds  :  they  neither  came 

For  pride  of  empire,  nor  desire  of  fame  : 

Kings  fight  for  kingdoms,  madmen  for  applause  : 

But  love  for  love  alone  ;  that  crowns  the  lover's  cause. 

This  thought,  which  ever  bribes  the  beauteous  kind, 

Such  pity  wrought  in  every  lady's  mind. 

They  left  their  steeds,  and  prostrate  on  the  place. 

From  the  fierce  king  implored  the  offenders'  grace. 

He  paused  a  while,  stood  silent  in  his  mooc^ 
(For  yet  his  rage  was  boiling  in  his  blood ;) 


320  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

But  soon  his  tender  mind  the  impression  felt, 

(As  softest  metals  are  not  slow  to  melt, 

And  pity  soonest  runs  in  softest  minds  ;) 

Then  reasons  with  himself ;  and  first  he  finds 

His  passion  cast  a  mist  before  his  sense, 

And  either  made,  or  magnified  the  ofi'ence. 

Offence  1  of  what  ?  to  whom  ?  who  judged  the  cause  ? 

The  prisoner  freed  himself  by  nature's  laws  : 

Born  free,  he  sought  his  right :  the  man  he  freed 

Was  perjured,  but  his  love  excused  the  deed : 

Thus  pondering,  he  look'd  under  with  his  eyes, 

And  saw  the  women's  tears,  and  heard  their  cries ; 

Which  moved  compassion  more  ;  he  shook  his  head, 

And  softly  sighing  to  himself  he  said  : — 

Curse  on  the  unpardoning  prince,  whom  tears  can  draw 
To  no  remorse  ;  who  rules  by  lions'  law  ; 
And  deaf  to  prayers,  by  no  submission  bow'd, 
Rends  all  alike  ;  the  penitent,  and  proud ! 
At  this,  with  look  serene,  he  raised  his  head  ; 
Keason  resumed  her  place,  and  passion  fled  : 
Then  thus  aloud  he  spoke  :  The  power  of  love, 
In  earth,  and  seas,  and  air,  and  heaven  above, 
Rules,  unresisted,  with  an  awful  nod ; 
By  daily  miracles  declared  a  god  : 
He  blinds  the  wise,  gives  eye-sight  to  the  blind ; 
And  moulds  and  stamps  anew  the  lover's  mind.  * 
Behold  that  Arcite,  and  this  Palamon, 
Freed  from  my  fetters,  and  in  safety  gone, 
What  hinder'd  either  in  their  native  soil 
At  ease  to  reap  the  harvest  of  their  toil  ? 
But  Love,  their  lord,  did  otherwise  ordain, 
And  brought  'em  in  their  own  despite  again, 
To  sufier  death  deserved  ;  for  well  they  know, 
'Tis  in  my  power,  and  I  their  deadly  foe. 
The  proverb  holds,  that  to  be  wise  and  love, 
Is  hardly  granted  to  the  gods  above. 
See  how  the  madmen  bleed :  behold  the  gains 
With  which  their  master.  Love,  rewards  their  pains. 
For  seven  long  years,  on  duty  every  day, 
Lo  their  obedience,  and  their  monarch's  pay : 
Yet,  as  in  duty  bound,  they  serve  him  on  ; 
And,  ask  the  fools,  they  think  it  wisely  done ; 
Nor  ease,  nor  wealth,  nor  life  itself,  regard, 
For  'tis  their  maxim.  Love  is  love's  reward. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  321 

This  is  not  all ;  the  fair,  for  whom  they  strove, 
Nor  kuew  before,  nor  could  suspect  their  love, 
Nor  thought,  when  she  beheld  the  fight  from  far, 
Her  beauty  was  the  occasion  of  the  war. 
But  sure  a  general  doom  on  man  is  pass'd, 
And  all  are  fools  and  lovers,  first  or  last : 
This,  both  by  others  and  myself,  I  know. 
For  I  have  served  their  sovereign  long  ago ; 
Oft  have  been  caught  within  the  winding  train 
Of  female  snares,  and  felt  the  lover's  pain, 
And  learn'd  how  far  the  god  can  human  hearts  constrain. 
To  this  remembrance,  and  the  prayers  of  those, 
Who  for  the  offending  warriors  interpose, , 
I  give  their  forfeit  lives ;  on  this  accord, 
To  do  me  homage  as  their  sovereign  lord  ; 
And  as  my  vassals,  to  their  utmost  might. 
Assist  my  person,  and  assert  my  right. 
This  freely  sworn,  the  knights  their  grace  obtain'd. 
Then  thus  the  king  his  secret  thoughts  explained : 
If  wealth,  or  honour,  or  a  royal  race, 
Or  each,  or  all  may  win  a  lady's  grace, 
Then  either  of  you  knights  may  well  deserve 
A  princess  bom  ;  and  such  is  she  you  serve  : 
For  Emily  is  sister  to  the  crown. 
And  but  too  well  to  both  her  beauty  known : 
But  should  you  combat  till  you  both  were  dead, 
Two  lovers  cannot  share  a  single  bed  : 
As  therefore  both  are  equal  in  degree. 
The  lot  of  both  be  left  to  destiny. 
Now  hear  the  award,  and  happy  may  it  prove 
To  her,  and  him  who  best  deserves  her  love. 
Depart  from  hence  in  peace,  and,  free  as  air. 
Search  the  wide  world,  and  where  you  please  repair ; 
But  on  the  day  when  this  returning  sun 
To  the  same  point  through  every  sign  has  run, 
Then  each  of  you  his  hundred  knights  shall  bring, 
In  royal  hsts,  to  fight  before  the  king  ; 
And  then  the  knight,  whom  fate  or  happy  chance 
Shall  with  his  friends  to  victory  advance. 
And  grace  his  arms  so  far  in  equal  fight, 
From  out  the  bars  to  force  his  opposite. 
Or  kill,  or  make  him  recreant  on  the  plain, 
The  prize  of  valour  and  of  love  shall  gain ; 
29* 


322  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

The  vanquished  party  shall  their  claim  release, 

And  the  long  jars  conclude  in  lasting  peace. 

The  charge  be  mine  to  adorn  the  chosen  ground, 

The  theatre  of  war,  for  champions  so  renown'd  ; 

And  take  the  patron's  place,  of  either  knight, 

With  eyes  impartial  to  behold  the  fight ; 

And  Heaven  of  me  so  judge  as  I  shall  judge  aright. 

If  both  are  satisfied  with  this  accord. 

Swear  by  the  laws  of  knighthood  on  my  sword. 

AVho  now  but  Palamon  exults  with  joy  ? 
And  ravish'd  Arcite  seems  to  touch  the  sky : 
The  whole  assembled  troop  was  pleased  as  well, 
Extol  the  award,  and  on  their  knees  they  fell 
To  bless  the  gracious  king.    The  knights  with  leave 
Departing  from  the  place,  his  last  commands  receive ; 
On  Emily  with  equal  ardour  look, 
And  from  her  eyes  their  inspiration  took. 
From  thence  to  Thebes'  old  walls  pursue  their  way, 
Each  to  provide  his  champions  for  the  day. 

It  might  be  deem'd,  on  our  historian's  part. 
Or  too  much  neghgence,  or  want  of  art. 
If  he  forgot  the  vast  magnificence 
Of  royal  Theseus,  and  his  large  expense. 
He  first  enclosed  for  Hsts  a  level  groimd, 
The  whole  circumference  a  mile  around  ; 
The  form  was  circular  ;  and  aU  without 
A  trench  was  sunk,  to  moat  the  place  about. 
Within  an  amphitheatre  appear' d, 
Raised  in  degrees,  to  sixty  paces  rear'd  : 
That  when  a  man  was  placed  in  one  degree. 
Height  was  aUow'd  for  him  above  to  see. 

Eastward  was  built  a  gate  of  marble  white ; 
The  like  adorn'd  the  western  opposite. 
A  nobler  object  than  this  fabric  was, 
Rome  never  saw  ;  nor  of  so  vast  a  space. 
For  rich  with  spoils  of  many  a  conquer'd  land, 
All  arts  and  artists  Theseus  could  command  ; 
Who  sold  for  hire,  or  wrought  for  better  fame  ; 
The  master-painters,  and  the  carvers,  came. 
So  rose  within  the  compass  of  the  year 
An  age's  work,  a  glorious  theatre. 
Then  o'er  its  eastern  gate  was  raised  above 
A  temple,  sacred  to  the  Queen  of  Love ; 


PAIiAMON  AND  ARCITE.  3 

An  altar  stood  below :  on  either  hand 

A  priest  with  roses  crown'd,  who  held  a  myrtle  wand. 

The  dome  of  Mars  was  on  the  gate  opposed, 
And  on  the  north  a  turret  was  enclosed, 
Within  the  walls  of  alabaster  white. 
And  crimson  coral  for  the  queen  of  night, 
Who  takes  in  sylvan  sports  her  chaste  delight. 

Within  these  oratories  might  you  see 
Rich  carvings,  portraitures,  and  imagery  : 
Where  every  figure  to  the  life  express'd 
The  godhead's  power  to  whom  it  was  address'd. 
In  Venus'  temple  on  the  sides  were  seen 
The  broken  slumbers  of  enamour'd  men. 
Prayers  that  ev'n  spoke,  and  pity  seem'd  to  call, 
And  issuing  sighs  that  smoked  along  the  walL 
Complaints,  and  hot  desires,  the  lover's  hell,  - 
And  scalding  tears  that  wore  a  channel  where  they  fell : 
And  all  around  were  nuptial  bonds,  the  ties, 
Of  love's  assurance,  and  a  train  of  lies, 
That,  made  in  lust,  conclude  in  perjuries. 
Beauty,  and  Youth,  and  Wealth,  and  Luxury, 
And  sprightly  Hope,  and  short-enduring  Joy ; 
And  Sorceries  to  raise  the  infernal  powers, 
And  Sigils  framed  in  planetary  hours  : 
Expense,  and  After-thought,  and  idle  Gare, 
And  Doubts  of  motley  hue,  and  dark  Despair ; 
Suspicions,  and  fantastical  Surmise, 
And  Jealousy  sufiused,  with  jaundice  in  her  eyes, 
Discolouring  all  she  view'd,  in  tawny  dress'd ; 
Down-look'd,  and  with  a  cuckoo  on  her  fist. 
Opposed  to  her,  on  t'  other  side  advance 
The  costly  feast,  the  carol,  and  the  dance, 
Minstrels,  and  music,  poetry,  and  play, 
And  balls  by  night,  and  tournaments  by  day. 
All  these  were  painted  on  the  walls,  and  more ; 
With  acts  and  monuments  of  times  before  : 
And  others  added  by  prophetic  doom. 
And  lovers  yet  unborn,  and  loves  to  come  : 
For -there  the  Idalian  mount,  and  Citheron, 
The  court  of  Venus,  was  in  colours  drawn : 
Before  the  palace-gate,  in  careless  dress. 
And  loose  array,  sat  portress  Idleness  : 
There,  by  the  fount.  Narcissus  pined  alone; 
There  Samson  was  ;  with  wiser  Solomon, 


3554      •  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

And  all  the  mighty  names  by  love  undone. 

Medea's  charms  were  there,  Circean  feasts, 

With  bowls  that  turn'd  enamour'd  youths  to  beasts : 

Here  might  be  seen,  that  beauty,  wealth,  and  wit, 

And  prowess,  to  the  power  of  love  submit : 

The  spreading  snare  for  all  mankind  is  laid ; 

And  lovers  all  betray,  and  are  betray'd. 

The  goddess'  self  some  noble  hand  had  wrought ; 

Smiling  she  seem'd,  and  full  of  pleasing  thought : 

From  ocean  as  she  first  began  to  rise. 

And  smoothed  the  ruffled  seas,  and  clear'd  the  skies ; 

She  trod  the  brine  all  bare  below  the  breast, 

And  the  green  waves  but  ill  conceal'd  the  rest. 

A  lute  she  held  ;  and  on  her  head  was  seen 

A  wreath  of  roses  red,  and  myrtles  green  ; 

Her  turtles  fann'd  the  buxom  air  above  ; 

And,  by  his  mother,  stood  an  infant  Love, 

With  wings  unfledged  ;  his  eyes  were  banded  o'er ; 

His  hands  a  bow,  his  back  a  quiver  bore, 

Supplied  with  arrows  bright  and  keen,  a  deadly  store. 

But  in  the  dome  of  mighty  Mars  the  red 
With  different  figures  all  the  sides  were  spread  ; 
This  temple,  less  in  form,  with  equal  grace, 
Was  imitative  of  the  first  in  Thrace  : 
For  that  cold  region  was  the  loved  abode, 
And  sovereign  mansion  of  the  warrior  god. 
The  landscape  was  a  forest  wide  and  bare  ; 
Where  neither  beast,  nor  human  kind  repair ; 
The  fowl,  that  scent  afar,  the  borders  fly. 
And  shun  the  bitter  blast,  and  wheel  about  the  sky. 
A  cake  of  scurf  lies  baking  on  the  ground. 
And  prickly  stubs,  instead  of  trees,  are  found  ; 
Or  woods  with  knots  and  knares  deform'd  and  old ; 
Headless  the  most,  and  hideous  to  behold : 
A  rattling  tempest  through  the  branches  went, 
That  stripp'd  'em  bare,  and  one  sole  way  they  bent. 
Heaven  froze  above,  severe,  the  clouds  congeal, 
And  through  the  crystal  vault  appear'd  the  standing  haiL 
Such  was  the  face  without :  a  mountain  stood 
Threatening  from  high,  and  overlook'd  the  wood : 
Beneath  the  lowering  brow,  and  on  a  bent, 
The  temple  stood  of  Mars  armipotent : 
The  frame  of  bumish'd  steel,  that  cast  a  glare 
From  far,  and  seem'd  to  thaw  the  freezing  air. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  325 

A  strait  long  entry  to  the  temple  led, 

Blind  with  high  walls,  and  horror  over  head  : 

Thence  issued  such  a  blast,  and  hollow  roar. 

As  threaten'd  from  the  hinge  to  heave  the  door ; 

In.  through  that  door,  a  northern  light  there  shone ; 

'Twas  all  it  had,  for  windows  there  were  none. 

The  gate  was  adamant ;  eternal  frame  ! 

Which,  hew'd  by  Mars  himself,  from  Indian  quarries  came, 

The  labour  of  a  god ;  and  all  along 

Tough  iron  plates  were  clench'd  to  make  it  strong. 

A  tun  about  was  every  pillar  there  ; 

A  polish'd  mirror  shone  not  half  so  clear. 

There  saw  I  how  the  secret  felon  wrought. 

And  treason  labouring  in  the  traitors  thought. 

And  midwife  Time  the  ripen'd  plot  to  murder  brought. 

There  the  red  Anger  dared  the  paUid  Fear ; 

Next  stood  Hypocrisy,  with  holy  leer ; 

Soft  smiling,  and  demurely  looking  down, 

But  hid  the  dagger  underneath  the  gown :  ,^ 

The  assassinating  wife,  the  household  liend, 

And  far  the  blackest  there,  the  traitor-friend. 

On  t'  other  side  there  stood  Destruction  bare ; 

Unpunish'd  Rapine,  and  a  waste  of  war. 

Contest,  with  sharpened  knives  in  cloisters  drawn, 

And  ail  with  blood  bespread  the  holy  lawn. 

Loud  menaces  were  heard,  and  foul  disgrace, 

And  bawhng  infamy,  in  language  base ; 

""ill  sense  was  lost  in  sound,  and  silence  fled  the  place. 

"  .e  slayer  of  himself  yet  saw  I  there, 

he  gore  congeal'd  was  clotted  in  his  hair : 
With  eyes  half  closed,  and  gaping  mouth  he  lay. 
And  grim,  as  when  he  breathed  his  sullen  soul  away. 
In  midst  of  all  the  dome,  Misfortune  sat. 
And  gloomy  Discontent,  and  fell  Debate, 
And  Madness  laughing  in  his  ireful  mood ; 
And  arm'd  complaint  on  theft ;  and  cries  of  blood. 
There  was  the  murder'd  corpse,  in  covert  laid, 
And  violent  death  in  thousand  shapes  display'd : 

e   city  to  the  soldier's  rage  resign'd : 
Successless  wars,  and  poverty  behind : 
Ships  burnt  in  tight,  or  forced  on  rocky  shores, 
And  the  rash  hunter  strangled  by  the  boars : 
The  new-born  babe  by  nurses  overlaid ; 
AjQd  the  cook  caught  within  the  raging  fire  he  made. 


326  PALAMON  AND  ARCITB. 

All  ills  of  Mars's  nature,  flame,  and  steel : 
The  gasping  charioteer,  beneath  the  wheel 
Of  his  own  car  ;  the  ruin'd  house  that  falls 
And  intercepts  her  lord  betwixt  the  walls : 
The  whole  division  that  to  Mars  pertains, 
All  trades  of  death  that  deal  in  steel  for  gains, 
Were  there :  the  butcher,  armourer,  and  smith, 
Who  forges  sharpen'd  falchions,  or  the  scythe. 
The  scarlet  Conquest  on  a  tower  was  placed, 
With  shouts,  and  soldiers'  acclamations  graced ; 
A  pointed  sword  hung  threatening  o'er  his  head, 
Sustain'd  but  by  a  slender  twine  of  thread. 
There  saw  I  Mars's  Ides,  the  Capitol, 
The  seer  in  vain  foretelling  Caesar's  fall ; 
The  last  triumvirs,  and  the  wars  they  move, 
And  Antony,  who  lost  the  world  for  love. 
These,  and  a  thousand  more,  the  fane  adorn ; 
Their  fates  were  painted  ere  the  men  were  bom, 
All  copied  from  the  heavens,  and  ruHng  force 
Of  the  red  star,  in  his  revolving  course. 
The  form  of  Mars  high  on  a  chariot  stood, 
All  sheathed  in  arms,  and  gruffly  look'd  the  god : 
Two  geomantic  figures  were  display'd 
Above  his  head,  a  warrior  and  a  maid. 
One  when  direct,  and  one  when  retrograde. 
Tired  with  deformities  of  death,  I  haste 
To  the  third  temple  of  Diana  chaste. 
A  sylvan  scene  with  various  greens  was  drawn. 
Shades  on  the  sides,  and  in  the  midst  a  lawn : 
The  silver  Cynthia,  with  her  nymphs  around. 
Pursued  the  flying  deer,  the  woods  with  horns  resound : 
Calisto  there  stood  manifest  of  shame, 
And,  turn'd  a  bear,  the  northern  star  became : 
Her  son  was  next,  and,  by  peculiar  grace. 
In  the  cold  circle  held  the  second  place  : 
The  stag  Actseon  in  the  stream  had  spied 
The  naked  huntress,  and,  for  seeing,  died : 
His  hounds,  unknowing  of  his  change,  pursue 
The  chace,  and  their  mistaken  master  slew. 
Peneian  Daphne  too  was  there  to  see, 
ApoUo's  love  before,  and  now  his  tree : 
The  adjoining  fane  the  assembled  Greeks  expressed, 
And  hunting  of  the  Caledonian  beast. 


PALAMON  AND  AKCITE.  327 

CEnides'  valour,  and  his  envied  prize : 

The  fatal  power  of  Atalanta's  eyes ; 

Diana's  vengeance  on  the  victor  shown, 

The  murd'ress  mother,  and  consuming  son ; 

The  Volscian  queen  extended  on  the  plain ; 

The  treason  punish'd,  and  the  traitor  slain. 

The  rest  were  various  huntings,  well  design'd, 

And  savage  beasts  destroy'd,  of  every  kind. 

The  graceful  goddess  was  array'd  in  green  ; 

About  her  feet  were  little  beagles  seen. 

That  watch'd  with  upward  eyes  the  motions  of  their  CLueen. 

Her  legs  were  buskin'd,  and  the  left  before 

In  act  to  shoot ;  a  silver  bow  she  bore. 

And  at  her  back  a  painted  quiver  wore. 

She  trod  a  waxing  moon,  that  soon  would  wane, 

And,  drinking  borrow'd  light,  be  fill'd  again : 

With  downcast  eyes,  as  seeming  to  survey 

The  dark  dominions,  her  alternate  sway. 

Before  her  stood  a  woman  in  her  throes. 

And  call'd  Lucina's  aid  her  burthen  to  disclose. 

All  these  the  painter  drew  with  such  command, 
That  Nature  snatch'd  the  pencil  from  his  hand, 
Ashamed  and  angry  that  his  art  could  feign 
And  mend  the  tortures  of  a  mother's  pain. 
Theseus  beheld  the  fanes  of  every  god. 
And  thought  his  mighty  cost  was  weU  bestow'd. 
So  princes  now  their  poets  should  regard ; 
But  few  can  write,  and  fewer  can  reward. 

The  theatre  thus  raised,  the  hsts  enclosed, 
And  all  with  vast  magnificence  disposed. 
We  leave  the  monarch  pleased,  and  haste  to  bring 
The  knights  to  combat,  and  their  arms  to  sing. 


4      BOOK  III. 

The  day  approach'd  when  fortune  should  decide 
The  important  enterprise,  and  give  the  bride ; 
For  now,  the  rivals  round  the  world  had  sought^ 
And  each  his  number,  well  appointed,  brought. 
The  nations,  far  and  near,  contend  in  choice, 
And  send  the  flower  of  war  by  public  voice ; 


328  PALAMON  AND  AKCITE. 

That  after,  or  before,  were  never  known 

Such  chiefs,  as  each  an  army  seem'd  alone : 

Beside  the  champions,  all  of  high  degree, 

Who  knighthood  loved,  and  deeds  of  chivalry, 

Throng'd  to  the  lists,  and  envied  to  behold 

The  names  of  others,  not  their  own,  enrolPd. 

Nor  seems  it  strange ;  for  every  noble  knight 

Who  loves  the  fair,  and  is  endued  with  might, 

In  such  a  quarrel  would  be  proud  to  fight. 

There  breathes  not  scarce  a  man  on  British  ground 

(An  isle  for  love,  and  arms,  of  old  renown'd) 

But  would  have  sold  his  life  to  purchase  fame, 

To  Palamon  or  Arcite  sent  his  name : 

And  had  the  land  selected  of  the  best, 

Half  had  come  hence,  and  let  the  world  provide  the  rest* 

A  hundred  knights  with  Palamon  there  came, 

Approved  in  fight,  and  men  of  mighty  name ; 

Their  arms  were  several,  as  their  nations  were. 

But  furnish 'd  all  alike  with  sword  and  spear. 

Some  wore  coat-armour,  imitating  scale ; 

And  next  their  skins  were  stubborn  shirts  of  mail. 

Some  wore  a  breast-plate  and  a  light  jupon. 

Their  horses  clothed  with  rich  caparison  : 

Some  for  defence  would  leathern  bucklers  use. 

Of  folded  hides ;  and  others  shields  of  Pruss. 

One  hung  a  pole-axe  at  his  saddle-bow. 

And  one  a  heavy  mace  to  shun  the  foe ; 

One  for  his  legs  and  knees  provided  well, 

With  jambeaux  arm'd,  and  double  plates  of  steel : 

This  on  his  helmet  wore  a  lady's  glove, 

And  that  a  sleeve  embroider'd  by  his  love. 

With  Palamon  above  the  rest  in  place, 
Lycurgus  came,  the  surly  king  of  Thrace ; 
Black  was  his  beard  and  manly  was  his  face  ; 
The  balls  of  his  broad  eyes  roll'd  in  his  head, 
And  glared  betwixt  a  yellow  and  a  red : 
He  look'd  a  Hon  with  a  gloomy  stare. 
And  o'er  his  eye-brows  hung  his  matted  hair : 
Big-boned,  and  large  of  limbs,  with  sinews  strong, 
Broad-shoulder  d,  and  his  arms  were  round  and  long. 
Four  milk-white  bulls  (the  Thracian  use  of  old) 
Were  yoked  to  draw  his  car  of  burnish'd  gold. 
Upright  he  stood,  and  bore  aloft  his  shield. 
Conspicuous  from  afar,  and  overlook'd  the  field. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  329 

His  surcoat-was  a  bear-skin  on  his  back  ; 
His  hair  hung  long  behind,  and  glossy  raven  black. 
His  ample  forehead  bore  a  coronet 
With  sparkling  diamonds,  and  with  rubies  set : 
Ten  brace,  and  more,  of  greyhounds,  snowy  fair. 
And  tall  as  stags,  ran  loose,  and  coursed  around  his  chair, 
A  match  for  pards  in  flight,  in  grappling  for  the  bear : 
With  golden  muzzles  all  their  mouths  were  bound, 
And  collars  of  the  same  their  necks  surround. 
Thus  through  the  fields  Lycurgus  took  his  way  ; 
His  hundred  knights  attend  in  pomp  and  proud  array. 
To  match  this  monarch,  with  strong  Arcite  came 
Emetrius,  king  of  Ind,  a  mighty  name  ! 
On  a  bay  courser,  goodly  to  behold. 
The  trappings  of  his  horse  adorn'd  with  barbarous- gold. 
Not  Mars  bestrode  a  steed  with  greater  grace  ; 
His  surcoat  o'er  his  arms  was  cloth  of  Thrace, 
Adorn'd  with  pearls,  all  orient,  round,  and  great ; 
His  saddle  was  of  gold,  with  emeralds  set ; 
His  shoulders  large  a  mantle  did  attire. 
With  rubies  thick,  and  sparkling  as  the  fire : 
His  amber-colour'd  locks  in  ringlets  run. 
With  graceful  negligence,  and  shone  against  the  sun. 
His  nose  was  aquiline,  his  eyes  were  blue, 
Ruddy  his  lips,  and  fresh  and  fair  his  hue : 
Some  sprinkled  freckles  on  his  face  were  seen, 
Whose  dusk  set  ofi"  the  whiteness  of  the  skin : 
His  awful  presence  did  the  crowd  surprise. 
Nor  durst  the  rash  spectator  meet  his  eyes : 
Eyes  that  confess'd  him  bom  for  kingly  sway, 
So  fierce,  they  flash'd  intolerable  day. 
His  age  in  nature's  youthful  prime  appear' d, 
And  just  began  to  bloom  his  yellow  beard. 
Whene'er  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  heard  around, 
Loud  as  a  trumpet,  with  a  silver  sound : 
A  laurel  wreath'd  his  temples,  fresh,  and  green  ; 
And  myrtle  sprigs,  the  marks  of  love,  were  mix'd  between. 
Upon  his  fist  he  bore,  for  his  delight. 
An  eagle  well  reclaim'd,  and  Hly  white. 
His  hundred  knights  attend  him  to  the  war. 
All  arm'd  for  battle  ;  save  their  heads  were  bare. 
Words  and  devices  blazed  on  every  shield, 
And  pleasing  was  the  terror  of  the  field. 
30 


330  PALAMON  AND   ARCITE. 

For  kings,  and  dukes,  and  barons,  you  might  see, 

Like  sparkling  stars,  though  different  in  degree. 

All  for  the  increase  of  arms,  and  love  of  chivalry. 

Before  the  king  tame  leopards  led  the  way, 

And  troops  of  lions  innocently  play. 

So  Bacchus  through  the  conquer'd  Indies  rode, 

And  beasts  in  gambols  frisk'd  before  their  honest  god. 

In  this  array  the  war  of  either  side 
Through  Athens  pass'd  with  military  pride. 
At  prime,  they  enter'd  on  the  Sunday  morn  ; 
Rich  tapestry  spread  the  streets,  and  flowers  the  posts  adorn 
The  town  was  aU  a  jubilee  of  feasts  ; 
^  Theseus  will'd,  in  honour  of  his  guests  ; 
Himself  with  open  arms  the  kings  embraced. 
Then  all  the  rest  in  their  degrees  were  graced. 
No  harbinger  was  needful  for  the  night. 
For  every  house  was  proud  to  lodge  a  knight. 

I  pass  the  royal  treat,  nor  must  relate 
The  gifts  bestow'd,  nor  how  the  champions  sate : 
Who  first,  who  last,  or  how  the  knights  address'd 
Their  vows,  or  who  was  fairest  at  the  feast ; 
Whose  voice,  whose  graceful  dance  did  most  surprise ; 
Soft  amorous  sighs,  and  silent  love  of  eyes. 
The  rivals  call  my  Muse  another  way. 
To  sing  their  vigils  for  the  ensuing  day. 

'Twas  ebbing  darkness,  past  the  noon  of  night : 
And  Phosphor,  on  the  confines  of  the  light, 
Promised  the  sun  ;  ere  day  began  to  spring, 
The  tuneful  lark  already  stretch'd  her  wing. 
And  flickering  on  her  nest  made  short  essays  to  sing. 

When  wakeful  Palamon,  preventing  day, 
Took  to  the  royal  lists  his  early  way. 
To  Venus  at  her  fane,  in  her  own  house,  to  pray. 
There,  falling  on  his  knees  before  her  shrine, 
He  thus  implored  with  prayers  her  power  divine : — 
Creator  Venus,  genial  power  of  love. 
The  bliss  of  men  below,  and  gods  above  ! 
Beneath  the  sliding  sun  thou  runn'st  thy  race, 
Dost  fairest  shine,  and  best  become  thy  place. 
For  thee  the  winds  their  eastern  blasts  forbear, 
Thy  month  reveals  the  spring,  and  opens  all  the  year. 
Thee,  goddess,  thee  the  storms  of  winter  fly, 
Earth  smiles  with  flowers  renewing,  laughs  the  sky, 
And  birds  to  lays  of  love  their  tuneful  notes  apply. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  331 

For  thee  the  lion  loathes  the  taste  of  blood, 

And  roaring  hunts  his  female  through  the  wood  ; 

For  thee  the  bulls  rebellow  through  the  groves, 

And  tempt  the  stream,  and  snuff  their  absent  loves. 

'Tis  thine,  whate'er  is  pleasant,  good,  or  fair : 

All  nature  is  thy  province,  life  thy  care  : 

Thou  mad'st  the  world,  and  dost  the  world  repair 

Thou  gladder  of  the  mount  of  Cytheron, 

Increase  of  Jove,  companion  of  the  sun  ; 

If  e'er  Adonis  touch'd  thy  tender  heart, 

Have  pity,  goddess,  for  thou  know'st  the  smart. 

Alas  !  I  have  not  words  to  tell  my  grief ; 

To  vent  my  sorrow  would  be  some  relief ; 

Light  sufferings  give  us  leisure  to  complain ; 

We  groan,  but  cannot  speak,  in  greater  pain, 

O  goddess,  teU  thyself  what  I  would  say, 

Thou  know'st  it,  and  I  feel  too  much  to  pray. 

So  grant  my  suit,  as  I  enforce  my  might. 

In  love  to  be  thy  champion,  and  thy  knight ; 

A  servant  to  thy  sex,  a  slave  to  thee, 

A  foe  profess'd  to  barren  chastity. 

Nor  ask  I  fame  or  honour  of  the  field, 

Nor  choose  I  more  to  vanquish  than  to  yield : 

In  my  divine  Emilia  make  me  blest, 

Let  Fate,  or  partial  Chance,  dispose  the  rest : 

Find  thou  the  manner,  and  the  means  prepare : 

Possession,  more  than  conquest,  is  my  care. 

Mars  is  the  warrior's  god ;  in  him  it  Ues, 

On  whom  he  favours  to  confer  the  prize  ; 

With  smiling  aspect  you  serenely  move 

In  your  fifth  orb,  and  rule  the  realm  of  love. 

The  Fates  but  only  spin  the  coarser  clue, 

The  finest  of  the  wool  is  left  for  you  ; 

Spare  me  but  one  smaU  portion  of  the  twine, 

And  let  the  sisters  cut  below  your  line  : 

The  rest  among  the  rubbish  may  they  sweep. 

Or  add  it  to  the  yarn  of  some  old  miser's  heap. 

But,  if  you  this  ambitious  prayer  deny, 

(A  wish,  I  grant,  beyond  mortality,) 

Then  let  me  sink  beneath  proud  Arcite's  arms, 

And  I  once  dead,  let  him  possess  her  charms. 

Thus  ended  he  ;  then  with  observance  due 

The  sacred  incense  on  her  altar  threw : 


V 


332  PALAMON  AND   ARCITB. 

The  curling  smoke  mounts  heavy  from  the  fires  ; 

At  length  it  catches  flame,  and  in  a  blaze  expires ; 

At  once  the  gracious  goddess  gave  the  sign, 

Her  statue  shook,  and  trembled  all  the  shrine  : 

Pleased  Palamon  the  tardy  omen  took  ; 

For,  since  the  flames  pursued  the  trailing  smoke, 

He  knew  his  boon  was  granted  ;  but  the  day 

To  distance  driven,  and  joy  adjourn'd  with  long  delay. 

Now  morn  with  rosy  light  had  streak'd  the  sky, 
Up  rose  the  sun,  and  up  rose  Emily ; 
Address'd  her  early  steps  to  Cynthia's  fane. 
In  state  attended  by  her  maiden  train. 
Who  bore  the  vests  that  holy  rites  require. 
Incense,  and  odorous  gums,  and  cover'd  fire. 
The  plenteous  horns  with  pleasant  mead  they  crown, 
Nor  wanted  aught  besides,  in  honour  of  the  Moon. 
Now  while  the  temple  smoked  with  hallow'd  steam, 
They  wash  the  virgin  in  a  living  stream ; 
The  secret  ceremonies  I  conceal. 
Uncouth,  perhaps  unlawful,  to  reveal : 
But  such  they  were  as  pagan  use  required. 
Performed  by  women  when  the  men  retired, 
Whose  eyes  profane  their  chaste  mysterious  rites 
Might  turn  to  scandal,  or  obscene  delights. 
Well-meaners  think  no  harm  ;  but  for  the  rest, 
Phings  sacred  they  pervert,  and  silence  is  the  best. 
Her  shining  hair,  uncomb'd,  was  loosely  spread, 
A  crown  of  mastless  oak  adorn'd  her  head : 
When  to  the  shrine  approach'd,  the  spotless  maid 
Had  kindling  fires  on  either  altar  laid  : 
(The  rites  were  such  as  were  observed  of  old, 
By  Statins  in  his  Theban  story  told.) 
Then  kneeling  with  her  hands  across  her  breast. 
Thus  lowly  she  preferr'd  her  chaste  request : — 

0  goddess,  haunter  of  the  woodland  green, 
To  whom  both  heaven  and  earth  and  seas  are  seen ; 
Queen  of  the  nether  skies,  where  half  the  year 
Thy  silver  beams  descend,  and  light  the  gloomy  sphere ; 
Goddess  of  maids,  and  conscious  of  our  hearts. 
So  keep  me  from  the  vengeance  of  thy  darts, 
(Which  Niobe's  devoted  issue  felt. 

When  hissing  through  the  skies  the  feathered  deaths  were 
dealt,) 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  333 

As  I  desire  to  live  a  virgin  life, 

Nor  tnow  the  name  of  mother  or  of  wife. 

Thy  vot'ress  from  my  tender  years  I  am, 

And  love,  like  thee,  the  woods  and  sylvan  game. 

Like  death,  thou  know'st,  I  loathe  the  nuptial  state, 

And  man,  the  tyrant  of  our  sex,  I  hate, 

A  lowly  servant,  but  a  lofty  mate  ; 

Where  love  is  duty  on  the  female  side  ; 

On  their's  mere  sensual  gust,  and  sought  with  surly 

pride. 
Now  by  thy  triple  shape,  as  thou  art  seen 
In  heaven,  earth,  hell,  and  everywhere  a  queen, 
Grant  this  my  first  desire  ;  let  discord  cease, 
And  make  betwixt  the  rivals  lasting  peace  : 
Quench  their  hot  fire,  or  far  from  me  remove 
The  flame,  and  turn  it  on  some  other  love  ; 
Or,  if  my  frowning  stars  have  so  decreed. 
That  one  must  be  rejected,  one  succeed. 
Make  him  my  lord,  within  whose  faithful  breast 
Is  fix*d  my  image,  and  who  loves  me  best. 
But,  oh !  ev'n  that  avert ;  I  choose  it  not. 
But  take  it  as  the  least  unhappy  lot. 
A  maid  I  am,  and  of  thy  virgin  train  ; 
Oh,  let  me  still  that  spotless  name  retain ! 
Frequent  the  forests,  thy  chaste  will  obey, 
And  only  make  the  beasts  of  chace  my  prey ! 

The  flames  ascend  on  either  altar  clear, 
While  thus  the  blameless  maid  address'd  her  prayer. 
When  lo  !  the  burning  fire  that  shone  so  bright, 
Flew  off*  all  sudden,  with  extinguish'd  light. 
And  left  one  altar  dark,  a  little  space  ; 
Which  turn'd  self-kindled,  and  renew'd  the  blaze  ; 
That  other  victor-flame  a  moment  stood, 
Then  fell,  and  lifeless  left  the  extinguish'd  wood ; 
For  ever  lost,  the  irrevocable  light 
Forsook  the  blackening  coals,  and  sunk  to  night : 
At  either  end  it  whistled  as  it  flew, 
And  as  the  brands  were  green,  so  dropp'd  the  dew  ; 
Infected,  as  it  fell,  with  sweat  of  sanguine  hue. 

The  maid  from  that  ill  omen  turn'd  her  eyes, 
And  with  loud  shrieks  and  clamours  rent  the  skies, 
Nor  knew  what  signified  the  boding  sign. 
But  found  the  powers  displeased,  and  fear'd  the  wrath, 
divine. 

30* 


334  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Then  shook  the  sacred  shrine,  and  sudden  light 
Sprung  through  the  vaulted  roof,  and  made  the  temple 

bright. 
The  power,  behold  !  the  power  in  glory  shone. 
By  her  bent  bow,  and  her  keen  arrows  known ; 
The  rest,  a  huntress  issuing  from  the  wood, 
Reclining  on  her  cornel  spear  she  stood. 
Then  gracious  thus  began : — Dismiss  thy  fear, 
And  Heaven's  unchanged  decrees  attentive  hear : 
More  powerful  gods  have  torn  thee  from  my  side, 
Unwilling  to  resign,  and  doom'd  a  bride  : 
The  two  contending  knights  are  weigh'd  above  ; 
One  Mars  protects,  and  one  the  Queen  of  Love  : 
But  which  the  man,  is  in  the  Thunderer's  breast ; 
This  he  pronounced, — 'tis  he  who  loves  thee  best. 
The  fire  that,  once  extinct,  revived  again, 
Foreshows  the  love  allotted  to  remain  : 
Farewell !  she  said  ;  and  vanish'd  from  the  place  ; 
The  sheaf  of  arrows  shook,  and  rattled  in  the  case. 
Aghast  at  this,  the  royal  virgin  stood, 
Disclaim'd,  and  now  no  more  a  sister  of  the  wood : 
But  to  the  parting  goddes^  thus  she  pray'd ; 
Propitious  still  be  present  to  my  aid. 
Nor  quite  abandon  your  once  favour'd  maid. 
Then  sighing  she  return'd  ;  but  smiled  betwixt. 
With  hopes,  and  fears,  and  joys  with^  sorrows  mixt. 

The  next  returning  planetary  hour 
Of  Mars,  who  shared  the  heptarchy  of  power, 
His  steps  bold  Arcite  to  the  temple  bent, 
To  adore  with  pagan  rites  the  power  armipotent : 
Then  prostrate  low  before  his  altar  lay. 
And  raised  his  manly  voice,  and  thus  began  to  pray : — 
Strong  god  of  arms  !  whose  iron  sceptre  sways 
The  freezing  North,  and  Hyperborean  seas. 
And  Scythian  colds,  and  Thracia's  wintry  coast. 
Where  stand  thy  steeds,  and  thou  art  honour'd  most ; 
There  most ;  but  everywhere  thy  power  is  known, 
The  fortune  of  the  fight  is  aU  thy  own  : 
Terror  is  thine,  and  wild  amazement,  flung 
From  out  thy  chariot,  withers  e'en  the  strong  : 
And  disarray  and  shameful  rout  ensue. 
And  force  is  added  to  the  fainting  crew. 
Acknowledged  as  thou  art,  accept  my  prayer. 
If  aught  I  have  achieved  deserve  thy  care  ; 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  335 

If  to  my  utmost  power  wrth  sword  and  shield 

I  dared  the  death,  unknowing  how  to  yield, 

And  falling  in  my  rank,  still  kept  the  field : 

Then  let  my  arms  prevail,  by  thee  sustained, 

That  Emily  by  conquest  may  be  gain'd. 

Have  pity  on  my  pains  ;  nor  those  unknown  •> 

To  Mars,  which,  when  a  lover,  were  his  own. 

Venus,  the  public  care  of  all  above, 

Thy  stubborn  heart  h^  soften'd  into  love  : 

Now,  by  her  blandishments  and  powerful  charms, 

When  yielded  she  lay  curling  in  thy  arms, 

Ev'n  by  thy  shame,  if  shame  it  may  be  call'd, 

When  Vulcan  had  thee  in  his  net  inthrall'd ; 

(Oh  envied  ignominy,  sweet  disgrace. 

When  every  god  that  saw  thee,  wish'd  thy  place  !) 

By  those  dear  pleasures,  aid  my  arms  in  tight. 

And  make  me  conquer  in  my  patron's  right ; 

For  I  am  young,  a  novice  in  the  trade, 

The  fool  of  love,  unpractised  to  persuade  : 

And  want  the  soothing  arts  that  catch  the  fair. 

But,  caught  myself,  he  strugghng  in  the  snare  : 

And  she  I  love,  or  laughs  at  all  my  pain. 

Or  knows  her  worth  too  well ;  and  pays  me  with  disdain. 

For  sure  I  am,  unless  I  win  in  arms. 

To  stand  excluded  from  Emiha's  charms  : 

Nor  can  my  strength  avail,  unless,  by  thee 

Endued  with  force,  I  gain  the  victory : 

Then  for  the  fire  which  warm'd  thy  generous  heart, 

Pity  thy  subject's  pains,  and  equal  smart. 

So  be  the  morrow's  sweat  and  labour  mine. 

The  palm  and  honour  of  the  conquest  thine  : 

Then  shall  the  war,  and  stern  debate,  and  strife 

Immortal,  be  the  business  of  my  life  ; 

And  in  thy  fane,  the  dusty  spoils  among. 

High  on  the  bumish'd  roof,  my  banner  shall  be  hung : 

Rank'd  with  my  champions'  bucklers,  and  below. 

With  arms  reversed,  the  achievements  of  my  foe ; 

And  while  these  limbs  the  vital  spirit  feeds, 

While  day  to  night,  and  night  to  day  succeeds, 

Thy  smoking  altar  shall  be  fat  with  food 

Of  incense,  and  the  grateful  steam  of  blood  ; 

Burnt-offerings  morn  and  evening  shall  be  thine ; 

And  fires  eternal  in  thy  temple  shine. 


336  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

This  bush  of  yellow  beard,  this  length  of  hair, 
"Which  from  my  birth  inviolate  I  bear, 
Guiltless  of  steel,  and  from  the  razor  free,- 
Shall  fall,  a  plenteous  crop,  reserved  for  thee. 
So  may  my  arms  with  victory  be  blest,* 
I  ask  no  more  ;  let  fate  dispose  the  rest? 
v^   The  champion  ceased  ;  there  follow'd  in  the  close 
^A  hollow  groan  :  a  murmuring  sound  arose  ; 
The  rings  of  iron,  that. on  the  doofs  were  hung. 
Sent  out  a  jarring  sound,  and  harshly  rung  : 
The  bolted  gates  flew  open  at  the  blast, 
The  storm  rushed  in,  and  Arcite  stood  aghast  : 
The  flames  were  blown  aside,  yet  shone  they  bright, 
Fann'd  by  the  wind,  and  gave  a  rufiied  light. 

Then  from  the  ground  a  scent  began  to  rise, 
Sweet  smelling  as  accepted  sacrifice  : 
This  omen  pleased  ;  and  as  the  flames  aspire 
AVith  odorous  incense  Arcite  heaps  the  fire  : 
Nor  wanted  hymns  to  Mars,  or  heathen  charms : 
At  length  the  nodding  statue  clash'd  his  arms, 
And,  with  a  sullen  sound,  and  feeble  cry, 
Half  sunk,  and  half  pronounced  Victory  ! 
For  this,  with  soul  devout,  he  thank'd  the  god, 
And,  of  success  secure,  returned  to  his  abode. 

These  vows  thus  granted,  raised  a  strife  above, 
Betwixt  the  god  of  War,  and  queen  of  Love. 
She,  granting  first,  had  right  of  time  to  plead ; 
But  he  had  granted  too,  nor  would  recede. 
Jove  was  for  Venus  ;  but  he  fear'd  his  wife, 
And  seem'd  unwilling  to  decide  the  strife ; 
Till  Saturn  from  his  leaden  throne  arose. 
And  found  a  way  the  difierence  to  compose  : 
Though  sparing  of  his  grace,  to  mischief  bent, 
He  seldom  does  a  good  with  good  intent. 
Wayward,  but  wise  ;  by  long  experience  taught, 
To  please  both  parties,  for  ill  ends,  he  sought : 
For  this  advantage  age  from  youth  has  won, 
As  not  to  be  outridden  though  outrun. 
By  fortune  he  has  now  to  Venus  trined. 
And  with  stern  Mars  in  Capricorn  was  joined  : 
Of  him  disposing  in  his  own  abode. 
He  soothed  the  goddess,  while  he  gulFd  the  god  :— 
Cease,  daughter,  to  complain,  and  stint  the  strife : 
Thy  Palamon  shall  have  his  promised  wife : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  337 

And  Mars,  the  lord  of  conquest,  in  the  fight 

With  palm  and  laurel  shall  adorn  his  knight. 

Wide  is  my  course,  nor  turn  I  to  my  place, 

Till  length  of  time,  and  move  with  tardy  pace. 

Man  feels  me,  when  I  press  the  ethereal  plains, 

My  hand  is  heavy,  and  the  wound  remains. 

^line  is  the  shipwreck,  in  a  watery  sign  ; 

And  in  an  earthy,  the  dark  dungeon  mine. 

Cold  shivering  agues,  melancholy  care, 

And  bitter  blasting  winds,  and  poison'd  air, 

Are  mine  ;  and  wilful  death,  resulting  from  despair. 

The  throtling  quinsey  'tis  my  star  appoints, 

And  rheumatism  I  send  to  rack  the  joints  : 

When  churls  rebel  against  their  native  prince, 

I  arm  their  hands,  and  furnish  the  pretence  ; 

And  housing  in  the  lion's  hateful  sign. 

Bought  senates,  and  deserting  troops  are  mine. 

Mine  is  the  privy  poisoning  ;  I  command 

Unkindly  seasons,  and  ungrateful  land. 

By  me  kings'  palaces  are  push'd  to  ground. 

And  miners  crush'd  beneath  their  mines  are  found. 

'Twas  I  slew  Samson,  when  the  pillar'd  hall 

Fell  down,  and  crush'd  the  many  with  the  falL 

My  looking  is  the  sire  of  pestilence. 

That  sweeps  at  once  the  people  and  the  prince. 

Now  weep  no  more,  but  trust  thy  grandsire's  art, 

Mars  shall  be  pleased,  and  thou  perform  thy  part. 

'Tis  ill,  though  different  your  complexions  are, 

The  family  of  heaven  for  men  should  war. 

The  expedient  pleased,  where  neither  lost  his  right ; 

Mars  had  the  day,  and  Venus  had  the  night. 

The  management  they  left  to  Chronos'  care  ; 

Now  turn  we  to  the  effect,  and  sing  the  war. 

In  Athens  all  was  pleasure,  mirth,  and  play, 
All  proper  to  the  spring,  and  sprightly  May  : 
Which  every  soul  inspired  with  such  delight, 
'Twas  jesting  all  the  day,  and  love  at  night. 
Heaven  smiled,  and  gladded  was  the  heart  of  man ; 
And  Venus  had  the  world  as  when  it  first  began. 
At  length  in  sleep  their  bodies  they  compose, 
And  dreamt  the  future  fight,  and  early  rose. 

Now  scarce  the  dawning  day  began  to  spring, 
As  at  a  signal  given,  the  streets  with  clamours  ring  ; 
At  once  the  crowd  arose  ;  confused  and  high, 


338  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Even  from  the  heaven,  was  heard  a  shouting  ciy ; 
For  Mars  was  early  up,  and  roused  the  sky. 
The  gods  came  downward  to  behold  the  wars, 
Sharpening  their  sights,  and  leaning  from  their  stars. 
The  neighing  of  the  generoirs  horse  was  heard, 
For  battle  by  the  busy  groom  prepared : 
Rustling  of  harness,  rattling  of  the  shield, 
Clattering  of  armour  furbish'd  for  the  field. 
Crowds  to  the  castle  mounted  up  the  street, 
Battering  the  pavement  with  their  coursers'  feet : 
The  greedy  sight  might  there  devour  the  gold 
Of  glittering  arms,  too  dazzling  to  behold  : 
And  pohsh'd  steel  that  cabt  the  view  aside. 
And  crested  morions  with  their  plumy  pride. 
Knights,  with  a  long  retinue  of  their  squires 
In  gaudy  liveries  march,  and  quaint  attires. 
One  laced  the  helm,  another  held  the  lance  : 
,A  third  the  shining  buckler  did  advance. 
The  courser  paw'd  the  ground  with  restless  feet, 
And  snorting  foam'd,  and  champ'd  the  golden  bit. 
The  smiths  and  armourers  on  palfreys  ride. 
Files  in  their  hands,  and  hammers  at  their  side. 
And  nails  for  loosen 'd  spears,  and  thongs  for  shields  provide. 
The  yeomen  guard  the  streets,  in  seemly  bands  ; 
And  clowns  come  crowding  on,  with  cudgels  in  their 
hands. 
The  trumpets,  next  the  gate,  in  order  placed, 
Attend  the  sign  to  sound  the  martial  blast : 
The  palace-yard  is  fill'd  with  floating  tides. 
And  the  last  comers  bear  the  former  to  the  sides. 
The  throng  is  in  the  midst :  the  common  crew 
Shut  out,  the  hall  admits  the  better  few ; 
In  knots  they  stand,  or  in  a  rank  they  walk, 
Serious  in  aspect,  earnest  in  their  talk : 
Factious,  and  favouring  this  or  t'  other  side, 
As  their  strong  fancy  or  weak  reason  guide : 
Their  wagers  back  their  wishes ;  numbers  hold 
With  the  fair  freckled  king,  and  beard  of  gold  ; 
So  vigorous  are  his  eyes,  such  rays  they  cast, 
So  prominent  his  eagle's  beak  is  placed. 
But  most  their  looks  on  the  black  monarch  bend, 
His  rising  muscles,  and  his  brawn  commend ; 
His  double-biting  axe,  and  beamy  spear. 
Each  asking  a  gigantic  force  to  rear. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  339 

All  spoke  as  partial  favour  moved  the  mind  ; 
And,  safe  themselves,  at  others'  cost  divined. 

Waked  by  the  cries,  the  Athenian  chief  arose, 
The  knightly  forms  of  combat  to  dispose ; 
And  passing  through  the  obsequious  guards,  he  sate 
Conspicuous  on  a  throne,  sublime  in  state ; 
There,  for  the  two  contending  knights  he  sent : 
Arm'd  cap-a-pic,  with  reverence  low  they  bent : 
He  smiled  on  both,  and  with  superior  look 
Alike  -feheir  ofFer'd  adoration  took. 
The  people  press  on  every  side  to  see 
Their  awful  prince,  and  hear  his  high  decree. 
Then  signing  to  their  heralds  with  his  hand, 
They  gave  his  orders  from  their  lofty  stand. 
Silence  is  thrice  enjoin'd  ;  then  thus  aloud 
The  king  at  arms  bespeaks  the  knights  and  listening  crowd : 

Our  sovereign  lord  has  ponder'd  in  his  mind 
The  means  to  spare  the  blood  of  gentle  kind ; 
And  of  his  grace,  and  inborn  clemency, 
He  modifies  his  first  severe  decree  ! 
The  keener  edge  of  battle  to  rebate. 
The  troops  for  honour  fighting,  not  for  hate, 
He  wills,  not  death  should  terminate  their  strife ; 
And  wounds,  if  wounds  ensue,  be  short  of  life  : 
But  issues,  ere  the  fight,  his  dread  command, 
That  slings  afar,  and  poniards  hand  to  hand. 
Be  banish'd  from  the  field ;  that  none  shall  dare 
With  shorten'd  sword  to  stab  in  closer  war  ; 
But  in  fair  combat  fight  with  manly  strength. 
Nor  push  with  biting  point,  but  strike  at  length  ; 
The  tourney  is  allow'd  but  one  career. 
Of  the  tough  ash,  with  the  sharp-grinded  spear, 
But  knights  unhorsed  may  rise  from  off  the  plain, 
And  fight  on  foot  their  honour  to  regain  ; 
Nor,  if  at  mischief  taken,  on  the  ground 
Be  slain,  but  prisoners  to  the  pillar  bound. 
At  either  barrier  placed  ;  nor  (captives  made). 
Be  freed,  or  arm'd  anew  the  fight  invade. 
The  chief  of  either  side,  bereft  of  Hfe, 
Or  yielded  to  his  foe,  concludes  the  strife. 
Thus  dooms  the  lord :  now  valiant  knights  and  young, 
Fight  each  his  fill  with  swords  and  maces  long. 
The  herald  ends :  the  vaulted  firmament 
With  loud  acclaims  and  vast  applause  is  rent : 


340  PALAMON  AND   ARCITE. 

Heaven  guard  a  prince  so  gracious  and  so  good. 

So  just,  and  yet  so  provident  of  blood  ! 

This  was  the  general  cry.     The  trumpets  sound, 

And  warlike  symphony  is  heard  around. 

The  marching  troops  through  Athens  take  their  way, 

The  great  earl-marshal  orders  their  array. 

The  fair  from  high  the  passing  pomp  behold ; 

A  rain  of  flowers  is  from  the  windows  roll'd. 

The  casements  are  with  golden  tissue  spread, 

And  horses'  hoofs,  for  earth,  on  silken  tapestry  tread. 

The  king  goes  midmost,  and  the  rivals  ride 

In  equal  rank,  and  close  his  either  side. 

Next  after  these,  there  rode  the  royal  wife. 

With  Emily,  the  cause  and  the  reward  of  strife. 

The  following  cavalcade,  by  three  and  three. 

Proceed  by  titles  marshall'd  in  degree. 

Thus  through  the  southern  gate  they  take  their  way. 

And  at  the  list  arrived  ere  prime  of  day. 

There,  parting  from  the  king,  the  chiefs  divide. 

And  wheeling  east  and  west,  before  their  many  ride. 

The  Athenian  monarch  mounts  his  throne  on  high. 

And  after  him  the  queen  and  Emily  : 

Next  these,  the  kindred  of  the  crown  are  graced 

With  nearer  seats,  and  lords  by  ladies  placed. 

Scarce  were  they  seated,  when  with  clamours  loud 

In  rush'd  at  once  a  rude  promiscuous  crowd : 

The  guards,  and  then  each  other  overbear, 

And  in  a  moment  throng  the  spacious  theatre. 

Now  changed  the  jarring  noise  to  whispers  low, 

As  winds  forsaking  seas  more  softly  blow  ; 

When  at  the  western  gate,  on  which  the  car 

Is  placed  aloft,  that  bears  the  god  of  war, 

Proud  Arcite,  entering  arm'd  before  his  train, 

Stops  at  the  barrier,  and  divides  the  plain. 

Ked  was  his  banner,  and  display'd  abroad 

The  bloody  colours  of  his  patron  god. 

At  that  self  moment  enters  Palamon 
The  gate  of  Venus  and  the  rising  Sun  ; 
Waved  by  the  wanton  winds,  his  banner  flies. 
All  maiden  white,  and  shares  the  people's  eyes. 
From  east  to  west,  look  all  the  world  around, 
Two  troops  so  match'd  were  never  to  be  found ; 
Such  bodies  built  for  strength,  of  equal  age. 
In  stature  sized  ;  so  proud  an  equipage  : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  341 

The  nicest  eye  could  no  distinction  make, 
Where  lay  the  advantage,  or  what  side  to  take. 

Thus  ranged,  the  herald  for  the  last  proclaims 
A  silence,  while  they  answered  to  their  names  : 
For  so  the  king  decreed,  to  shun  with  care 
The  fraud  of  musters  false,  the  common  bane  of  war. 
The  tale  was  just,  and  then  the  gates  were  closed; 
And  chief  to  chief,  and  troop  to  troop  opposed. 
The  heralds  last  retired,  and  loudly  cried, — 
The  fortune  of  the  field  be  fairly  tried. 

At  this,  the  challenger  with  fierce  defy 
His  trumpet  sounds  ;  the  challenged  makes  reply : 
With  clangour  rings  the  field,  resounds  the  vaulted  sky. 
Their  visors  closed,  their  lances  in  the  rest, 
Or  at  the  helmet  pointed,  or  the  crest. 
They  vanish  from  the  barrier,  speed  the  race, 
And  spurring  see  decrease  the  middle  space. 
A•cloud^of  smoke  envelops  either  host. 
And  all  at  once  the  combatants  are  lost : 
Darkling  they  join  adverse,  and  shock  unseen, 
Coursers  with  coursers  joustling,  men  with  men ; 
As  labouring  in  eclipse,  a  while  they  stay. 
Till  the  next  blast  of  wind  restores  the  day. 
They  look  anew :  the  beauteous  form  of  tight 
Is  changed,  and  war  appears  a  grisly  sight. 
Two  troops  in  fair  array  one  moment  show'd, 
The  next,  a  field  with  fallen  bodies  strow'd  : 
Not  half  the  number  in  their  seats  are  found  ; 
But  men  and  steeds  lie  grovelling  on  the  ground. 
Tlie  points  of  spears  are  stuck  within  the  shield, 
The  steeds  without  their  riders  scour  the  field. 
The  knights,  unhorsed,  on  foot  renew  the  fight ; 
The  glittering  falchions  cast  a  gleaming  light : 
Hauberks  and  helms  are  hew'd  with  many  a  wound, 
Out  spins  the  streaming  blood  and  dyes  the  ground. 
The  mighty  maces  with  such  haste  descend, 
They  break  the  bones,  and  make  the  solid  armour  bend. 
This  thrusts  amid  the  throng  with  furious  force ; 
Down  goes,  at  on<k«3,  the  horseman  and  the  horse: 
That  courser  stumbles  on  the  fallen  steed, 
-And  floundering  throws  the  rider  o'er  his  head. 
One  rolls  along,  a  foot-ball  to  his  foes  ; 
One  with  a  broken  truncheon  deaj^  his  blows. 
31 


342  PALAMON  AND   ARCITE. 

This  halting,  this  disabled  with  his  wound, 

In  triumph  led,  is  to  the  pillar  bound,  ^ 

"Where  by  the  king's  award  he  must  abide : 

There  goes  a  captive  led  on  t'  other  side. 

By  fits  they  cease ;  and  leaning  on  the  lance, 

T^ke  breath  a  while,  and  to  new  fight  advance. 

•    Full  oft  the  rivals  met,  and  neither  spared 

His  utmost  force,  and  each  forgot  to  ward. 

The  head  of  this  wa>s  to  the  saddle  bent, 

That  other  backward  to  the  crupper  sent : 

Both  were  by  turns  unhorsed  ;  the  jealous  blows 

PaU  thick  and  heavy,  when  on  foot  they  close. 

So  deep  their  falchions  bite,  that  every  stroke 

Pierced  to  the  quick  ;  and  equal  wounds  they  gave  and  took. 

Borne  far  asunder  by  the  tides  of  men, 

Like  adamant  and  steel  they  meet  again. 

So  when  a  tiger  sucks  the  bullock's  blood, 
A  famish'd  lion  issuing  from  the  wood 
Boars  loudly  fierce,  and  challenges  the  food. 
Each  claims  possession,  neither  will  obey. 
But  both  their  paws  are  fasten'd  on  the  prey ; 
They  bite,  they  tear  ;  and  while  in  vain  they  strive. 
The  swains  come  arm'd  between,  and  both  to  distance  drive. 

At  length,  as  fate  foredoom'd,  and  all  things  tend 
By  course  of  time  to  their  appointed  end  ; 
So  when  the  sun  to  west  was  far  declined. 
And  both  afresh  in  mortal  battle  join'd. 
The  strong  Emetrius  came  in  Arcite's  aid, 
And  Palamon  with  odds  was  overlaid  : 
For  turning  short,  he  struck  with  all  his  might 
Full  on  the  helmet  of  the  unwary  knight. 
Deep  was  the  wound  ;  he  stagger'd  with  the  blow, 
And  turned  him  to  his  unexpected  foe  ; 
Whom  with  such  force  he  struck,  he  feU'd  him  down, 
And  cleft  the  circle  of  his  golden  crown. 
But  Arcite's  men,  who  now  prevail'd  in  fight, 
Twice  ten  at  once  surround  the  single  knight : 
O'erpower'd,  at  length,  they  force  him  to  the  ground, 
Unyielded  as  he  was,  and  to  the  pillar  bound ; 
And  king  Lycurgus,  while  he  fought  in  vain 
His  friend  to  free,  was  tumbled  on  the  plain. 
^      Who  now  laments  but  Palamon,  compell*d 
No  more  to  try  the  fortune  of  the  field  I 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  343 

And,  worse  than  death,  to  view  with  hateful  eyes 
His  rival's  conquest,  and  renounce  the  prize  ! 

The  royal  judge  on  his  tribunal  placed, 
Who  had  beheld  the  fight  from  first  to  last, 
Bade  cease  the  war ;  pronouncing  from  on  high, 
Arcite  of  Thebes  had  won  the  beauteous  Emily. 
The  sound  of  trumpets  to  the  voice  replied, 
And  round  the  royal  hsts  the  heralds  cried, — 
Arcite  of  Thebes  has  won  the  beauteous  bride  ! 

The  people  rend  the  skies  with  vast  applause  ; 
All  own  the  chief,  when  Fortune  owns  the  cause. 
Arcite  is  own'd  e'en  by  the  gods  above. 
And  conquering  Mars  insults  the  Queen  of  Love 
So  laugh'd  he,  when  the  rightful  Titan  fail'd. 
And  Jove's  usurping  arms  in  heaven  prevail'd. 
Laugh'd  all  the  powers  who  favour  tyranny ; 
And  all  the  standing  army  of  the  sky. 
But  Venus  with  dejected  eyes  appears. 
And  weeping  on  the  lists  distill'd  her  tears  ; 
Her  will  refused,  which  grieves  a  woman  most, 
And,  in  her  champion  foil'd,  the  cause  of  Love  is  lost. 
Till  Saturn  said,  Fair  daughter,  now  be  still, 
The  blustering  fool  has  satisfied  his  will ; 
His  boon  is  given  ;  his  knight  has  gain'd  the  day, 
But  lost  the  prize,  the  arrears  are  yet  to  pay. 
Thy  hour  is  come,  and  mine  the  care  shall  be 
To  please  thy  knight,  and  set  thy  promise  free. 

Now  while  the  heralds  run  the  lists  around. 
And  Arcite  !  Arcite !  heaven  and  earth  resound  ; 
A  miracle  (nor  less  it  could  be  call'd) 
Their  joy  with  unexpected  sorrow  pall'd. 
The  victor  knight  had  laid  his  helm  aside, 
Part  for  his  ease,  the  greater  part  for  pride : 
Bare-headed,  popularly  low  he  bow'd, 
And  paid  the  salutations  of  the  crowd. 
Then  spurring  at  full  speed,  ran  endlong  on 
Where  Theseus  sate  on  his  imperial  throne  ; 
Furious  he  drove,  and  upward  cast  his  eye, 
Where  next  the  queen  was  placed  his  Emily; 
Then  passing,  to  the  saddle-bow  he  bent : 
A  sweet  regard  the  gracious  virgin  lent ; 
(For  women,  to  the  brave  an  easy  prey, 
Still  follow  Fortune  where  she  leads  the  way :) 


344  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

Just  then,  from  earth  sprung  out  a  flashing  fire, 

By  Pluto  sent,  at  Saturn's  bad  desire  : 

The  starthng  steed  was  seized  with  sudden  fright, 

And,  bounding,  o'er  the  pommel  cast  the  knight : 

Forward  he  flew,  and  pitching  on  his  head, 

He  quiver  d  with  his  feet,  and  lay  for  dead. 

Black  was  his  countenance  in  a  little  space, 

For  all  the  blood  was  gather'd  in  his  face. 

Help  was  at  hand :  they  rear'd  him  from  the  ground. 

And  from  his  cumbrous  arms  his  limbs  unbound ; 

Then  lanced  a  vein,  and  watch'd  returning  breath  ; 

It  came,  but  clogg'd  with  symptoms  of  his  death. 

The  saddle-bow  the  noble  parts  had  pressed, 

All  bruised  and  mortified  his  manly  breast. 

Him  still  entranced,  and  in  a  litter  laid. 

They  bore  from  field,  and  to  his  bed  convey'd. 

At  length  he  waked,  and  with  a  feeble  cry, 

The  word  he  first  pronounced,  was — Emily  ! 

Meantime  the  king,  though  inwardly  he  mourn'd. 
In  pomp  triumphant  to  the  town  return'd, 
Attended  by  the  chiefs,  who  fought  the  field  ; 
(Now  friendly  mix'd,  and  in  one  troop  compell'd)  : 
Composed  his  looks  to  counterfeited  cheer, 
And  bade  them  not  for  Arcite's  life  to  fear. 
But  that  which  gladded,  all  the  warrior  train, 
Though  most  were  sorely  wounded,  none  were  slain. 
The  surgeons  soon  despoil'd  'em  of  their  arms, 
And  some  with  salves  they  cure,  and  some  with  charms ; 
Foment  the  bruises,  and  the  pains  assuage. 
And  heal  their  inward  hurts  with  sovereign  draughts  of  sage. 
The  king  in  person  visits  all  around. 
Comforts  the  sick,  congratulates  the  sound  ; 
Honours  the  princely  chiefs,  rewards  the  rest, 
And  holds  for  thrice  three  days  a  royal  feast. 
None  was  disgraced  ;  for  falling  is  no  shame ; 
And  cowardice  alone  is  loss  of  fame. 
The  vent'rous  knight  is  from  the  saddle  thrown. 
But  'tis  the  fault  of  fortune,  not  his  own ; 
If  crowds  and  palms  the  conquering  side  adorn. 
The  victor  under  better  stars  was  born  : 
The  brave  man  seeks  not  popular  applause, 
Nor  overpower'd  with  arms  deserts  his  cause ; 
Unshamed,  though  foil'd,  he  does  the  best  he  can ; 
Force  is  of  brutes,  but  honour  is  of  man. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITB.  345 

Thus  Theseus  smiled  on  all  with  equal  grace, 
And  each  was  set  according  to  his  place  ; 
With  ease  were  reconciled  the  differing  parts, 
For  envy  never  dwells  in  noble  hearts. 
At  length  they  took  their  leave,  the  time  expired  ; 
Well  pleased,  and  to  their  several  homes  retired. 

Meanwhile  the  health  of  Arcite  still  impairs  ; 
From  bad  proceeds  to   worse,  and  mocks  the  leeches* 

cares ; 
Swoll'n  is  his  breast ;  his  inward  pains  increase, 
All  means  are  used,  and  all  without  success. 
The  clotted  blood  lies  heavy  on  his  heart, 
Corrupts,  and  there  remains  in  spite  of  art : 
Nor  breathing  veins,  nor  cupping  will  prevail ; 
All  outward  remedies  and  inward  fail : 
The  mould  of  nature's  fabric  is  destroy'd, 
Her  vessels  discomposed,  her  virtue  void  : 
The  bellows  of  his  lungs  begin  to  swell : 
All  out  of  frame  is  every  secret  cell, 
Nor  can  the  good  receive,  nor  bad  expel. 
Those  breathing  organs,  thus  within  oppress'd, 
With  venom  soon  distend  the  sinews  of  his  breast. 
Nought  profits  him  to  save  abandoned  life, 
Nor  vomit's  upward  aid,  nor  downward  laxative. 
The  midmost  region  batter'd  and  destroy'd, 
When  nature  cannot  work,  the  effect  of  art  is  void. 
For  physic  can  but  mend  our  crazy  state. 
Patch  an  old  building,  not  a  new  create. 
Arcite  is  doom'd  to  die  in  all  his  pride, 
Must  leave  his  youth,  and  yield  his  beauteous  bride, 
Gain'd  hardly,  against  right,  and  unenjoy'd. 
When  'twas  declared  all  hope  of  life  was  past, 
Conscience  (that  of  all  physic  works  the  last) 
Caused  him  to  send  for  Emily  in  haste. 
With  her,  (at  his  desire,)  came  Palamon  ; 
Then  on  his  pillow  raised,  he  thus  begun  : — 
No  language  can  express  the  smallest  part 
Of  what  I  feel,  and  suffer  in  my  heart. 
For  you,  whom  best  I  love  and  value  most ; 
But  to  your  service  I  bequeath  my  ghost ; 
Which  from  this  mortal  body  when  untied, 
Unseen,  unheard,  shall  hover  at  your  side  ; 
Nor  fright  you  waking,  nor  your  sleep  offend,- 
But  wait  officious,  and  your  steps  attend : 
31* 


346  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

How  I  have  loved,  excuse  my  faltering  tongue, 

My  spirits  feeble,  and  my  pains  are  strong : 

This  I  may  say,  I  only  grieve  to  die, 

Because  I  lose  my  charming  Emily : 

To  die,  when  Heaven  had  put  you  in  my  power, 

Fate  could  not  choose  a  more  mahcious  hour  ! 

What  greater  curse  could  envious  Fortune  give, 

Than  just  to  die,  when  I  began  to  live ! 

Vain  men,  how  vanishing  a  bliss  we  crave, 

Now  warm  in  love,  now  withering  in  the  grave  ! 

Never,  oh,  never  more  to  see  the  sun ! 

Still  dark,  in  a  damp  vault,  and  still  alone ! 

This  fate  is  common  ;  but  I  lose  my  breath 

Near  bliss,  and  yet  not  bless'd  before  my  death. 

Farewell ;  but  take  me  dying  in  your  arms, 

*Tis  all  I  can  enjoy  of  all  your  charms  : 

This  hand  I  cannot  but  in  death  resign ; 

Ah  !  could  I  live  !  but  while  I  live  'tis  mine. 

I  feel  my  end  approach,  and  thus  embraced, 

Am  pleased  to  die  ;  but  hear  me  speak  my  last : 

Ah  !  my  sweet  foe,  for  you,  and  you  alone, 

I  broke  my  faith  with  injured  Palamon. 

But  love  the  sense  of  right  and  wrong  confounds. 

Strong  love  and  proud  ambition  have  no  bounds. 

And  much  I  doubt,  should  Heaven  my  Hfe  prolong, 

I  should  return  to  justify  my  wrong  : 

For  while  my  former  flames  remain  within, 

Repentance  is  but  want  of  power  to  sin. 

With  mortal  hatred  I  pursued  his  Ufe, 

Nor  he,  nor  you,  were  guilty  of  the  strife  ; 

Nor  I,  but  as  I  loved ;  yet  all  combined, 

Your  beauty,  and  my  impotence  of  mind  ; 

And  his  concurrent  flame,  that  blew  my  fii'e ; 

For  still  our  kindred  souls  had  one  desire. 

He  had  a  moment's  right  in  point  of  time  ; 

Had  I  seen  first,  then  his  had  been  the  crime. 

Fate  made  it  mine,  and  justified  his  right ; 

Nor  holds  this  earth  a  more  deserving  knight. 

For  virtue,  valour,  and  for  noble  blood, 

Truth,  honour,  all  that  is  comprised  in  good ; 

So  help  me  Heaven,  in  all  the  world  is  none 

So  worthy  to  be  loved  as  Palamon. 

He  loves  you  too,  with  such  an  holy  fire. 

As  will  not,  cannot,  but  with  life  expire : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  347 

Our  vow'd  affections  both  have  often  tried, 
Nor  any  love  but  yours  could  ours  divide. 
Then,  by  my  love's  inviolable  band. 
By  my  long  suffering,  and  my  short  command, 
If  e'er  you  pHght  your  vows  when  I  am  gone, 
Have  pity  on  the  faithful  Palamon. 

This  was  his  last ;  for  Death  came  on  amain, 
And  exercised  below  his  iron  reign  ; 
Then  upward  to  the  seat  of  life  he  goes  : 
Sense  fled  before  him,  what  he  touch'd  he  froze  : 
Yet  could  he  not  his  closing  eyes  withdraw. 
Though  less  and  less  of  Emily  he  saw  ; 
So,  speechless,  for  a  little  space  he  lay  ; 
Then  grasp'd  the  hand  he  held,  and  sigh'd  his  soul  away. 

But  whither  went  his  soul,  let  such  relate 
Who  search  the  secrets  of  the  future  state  : 
Divines  can  say  but  what  themselves  believe  ; 
Strong  proofs  they  have,  but  not  demonstrative  : 
For,  were  all  plain,  then  aU  sides  must  agree, 
And  faith  itself  be  lost  in  certainty. 
To  live  uprightly  then  is  sure  the  best. 
To  save  ourselves,  and  not  to  damn  the  rest. 
The  soul  of  Arcite  went  where  heathens  go. 
Who  better  Hve  than  we,  though  less  they  know. 
In  Palamon  a  manly  grief  appears  ; 
Silent,  he  wept,  ashamed  to  show  his  tears  : 
Emilia  shriek'd  but  once,  and  then,  oppress'd 
With  sorrow,  sunk  upon  her  lover's  breast : 
Till  Theseus  in  his  arms  convey'd  with  care, 
Far  from  so  sad  a  sight,  the  swooning  fair. 
'Twere  loss  of  time  her  sorrow  to  relate  ; 
111  bears  the  sex  a  youthful  lover's  fate. 
When  just  approaching  to  the  nuptial  state. 
But  like  a  low-hung  cloud,  it  rains  so  fast, 
That  aU  at  once  it  falls,  and  cannot  last. 
The  face  of  things  is  changed,  and  Athens  now, 
That  laugh'd  so  late,  becomes  the  scene  of  woe : 
Matrons  and  maids,  both  sexes,  every  state, 
With  teafs  lament  the  knight's  untimely  fate. 
Nor  greater  grief  in  falling  Troy  was  seen 
For  Hector's  death  ;  but  Hector  was  not  then. 
Old  men  with  dust  deform'd  their  hoary  hair. 
The  women  beat  their  breasts,  their  cheeks  they  tare. 


348  *  PALAMON  AND   ARaTB. 

Why  would'st  thou  go,  with  one  consent  they  cry, 
When  thou  hadst  gold  enough,  and  Emily  ? 

Theseus  himself,  who  should  have  cheered  the  grief 
Of  others,  wanted  now  the  same  relief ; 
Old  Egeus  only  could  revive  his  son, 
Who  various  changes  of  the  worid  had  known, 
And  strange  vicissitudes  of  human  fate, 
Still  altering,  never  in  a  steady  state  ; 
Good  after  ill,  and,  after  pain,  delight ; 
Alternate  like  the  scenes  of  day  and  night : 
Since  etery  man,  who  lives,  is  born  to  die, 
And  none  can  boast  sincere  felicity. 
With  equal  mind,  what  happens,  let  us  bear. 
Nor  joy  nor  grieve  too  much  for  things  beyond  our  care. 
Like  pilgrims  to  the  appointed  place  we  tend  ; 
The  world's  an  inn,  and  death  the  journey's  end. 
Even  kings  but  play  ;  and  when  their  part  is  done. 
Some  other,  worse  or  better,  mount  the  throne. — 
With  words  like  these  the  crowd  was  satisfied, 
And  so  they  would  have  been,  had  Theseus  died. 
But  he,  their  king,  was  labouring  in  his  mind, 
A  fitting  place  for  funeral  pomps  to  find. 
Which  were  in  honour  of  the  dead  designed. 
And  after  long  debate,  at  last  he  found 
(As  love  itself  had  mark'd  the  spot  of  ground) 
That  grove  for  ever  green,  that  conscious  laund. 
Where  he  with  Palamon  fought  hand  to  hand  ; 
That  where  he  fed  his  amorous  desires 
With  soft  complaints,  and  felt  his  hottest  fires, 
There  other  flames  might  waste  his  earthly  part. 
And  burn  his  limbs,  where  love  had  burn'd  his  heart. 

This  once  resolved,  the  peasants  were  enjoin'd 
Sere-wood,  and  firs,  and  dodder'd  oaks  to  find. 
With  sounding  axes  to  the  grove  they  go. 
Fell,  split,  and  lay  the  fuel  on  a  row, 
Vulcanian  food  :  a  bier  is  next  prepared, 
On  which  the  lifeless  body  should  be  rear'd, 
Cover'd  with  cloth  of  gold,  on  which  was  laid 
The  corpse  of  Arcite,  in  like  robes  array'd. 
White  gloves  were  on  his  hands,  and  on  his  head 
A  wreath  of  laurel,  mix'd  with  myrtle,  spread. 
A  sword  keen-edged  within  his  right  he  held, 
The  warhke  emblem  of  the  conquer'd  field : 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITB.  349 

Bare  with  his  manly  visage  on  the  bier  : 

Menaced  his  countenance,  even  in  death  severe. 

Then  to  the  palace-hall  they  bore  the  knight, 

To  he  in  solemn  state,  a  public  sight. 

Groans,  cries,  and  bowlings  fill  the  crowded  place, 

And  unaffected  sorrow  sat  on  every  face. 

Sad  Palamon  above  the  rest  appears. 

In  mourning  garments,  dew'd  with  gushing  tears  : 

His  auburn  locks  on  either  shoulder  flow'd, 

Which  to  the  funeral  of  his  friend  he  vow'd  : 

But  Emily,  as  chief,  was  next  his  side, 

A  virgin-widow,  and  a  mourning  bride. 

And  that  the  princely  obsequies  might?  be 

Perform'd  according  to  his  high  degree. 

The  steed,  that  bore  him  living  to  the  fight. 

Was  trapp'd  with  polish'd  steel,  all  shining  bright, 

And  cover'd  with  the  achievements  of  the  knight. 

The  riders  rode  abreast,  and  one  his  shield, 

His  lance  of  cornel- wood  another  held  ;* 

The  third  his  bow,  and,  glorious  to  behold. 

The  costly  quiver,  all  of  bumish'd  gold. 

The  noblest  of  the  Grecians  next  appear, 

And,  weeping,  on  their  shoulders  bore  the  bier  ; 

With  sober  pace  they  march'd,  and  often  staid, 

And  through  the  master-street  the  corpse  convey'd. 

The  houses  to  their  tops  with  black  were  spread. 

And  even  the  pavements  were  with  mourning  hid. 

The  right  side  of  the  pall  old  Egeus  kept. 

And  on  the  left  the  royal  Theseus  wept ; 

Each  bore  a  golden  bowl,  of  work  divine. 

With  honey  fiU'd,  and  milk,  and  mix'd  with  ruddy  wine. 

Then  Palamon,  the  kinsman  of  the  slain, 

And  after  him  appear'd  the  illustrious  train. 

To  grace  the  pomp,  came  Emily  the  bright. 

With  cover'd  fire,  the  funeral  pile  to  light. 

With  high  devotion  was  the  service  made. 

And  all  the  rites  of  pagan  honour  paid : 

So  loftly  was  the  pile,  a  Parthian  bow, 

With  vigour  drawn,  must  send  the  shaft  below. 

The  bottom  was  full  twenty  fathom  broad, 

With  crackling  straw  beneath  in  due  proportion  strow'd. 

The  fabric  seem'd  a  wood  of  rising  green. 

With  sulphur  and  bitumen  cast  between, 


350  PALAMON  AND  ARCITE. 

To  feed  the  flames  :  the  trees  were  unctuous  fir, 

And  mountain-ash,  the  mother  of  the  spear  ; 

The  mourner  yew,  and  builder  oak  were  there : 

The  beech,  the  swimming  alder,  and  the  plane, 

Hard  box,  and  hnden  of  a  softer  grain, 

And  laurels,  which  the  gods  for  conquering  chiefs  ordain. 

How  they  were  rank'd,  shall  rest  untold  by  me, 

With  nameless  Nymphs  that  lived  in  every  tree ; 

Nor  how  the  Dryads,  or  the  woodland  train, 

Disherited,  ran  howling  o'er  the  plain  : 

Nor  how  the  birds  to  foreign  seats  repair'd. 

Or  beasts,  that  bolted  out,  and  saw  the  forest  bared : 

Nor  how  the  ground,  now  clear'd,  with  ghastly  fright 

Beheld  the  sudden  sun,  a  stranger  to  the  light. 

The  straw,  as  first  I  said,  was  laid  below : 
Of  chips  and  sere-wood  was  the  second  row ; 
The  third  of  greens,  and  timber  newly  fell'd  ; 
The  fourth  high  stage  the  fragrant  odours  held, 
And  pearls,  and  precious  stones,  and  rich  array, 
In  midst  of  which,  embalm' d,  the  body  lay. 
The  service  sung,  the  maid  with  mourning  eyes 
The  stubble  fired  ;  the  smouldering  flames  arise : 
This  office  done,  she  sunk  upon  the  ground  ; 
But  what  she  spoke,  recover'd  from  her  swound, 
I  want  the  wit  in  moving  words  to  dress  ; 
But  by  themselves  the  tender  sex  may  guess. 
"While  the  devouring  fire  was  burning  fast, 
Rich  jewels  in  the  flame  the  wealthy  cast ; 
And  some  their  shields,  and  some  their  lances  threw, 
And  gave  their  warrior's  ghost  a  warrior's  due. 
Full  bowls  of  wine,  of  honey,  milk,  and  blood, 
Were  pour'd  upon  the  pile  of  burning  wood. 
And  hissing  flames  receive,  and  hungry  Uck  the  food. 
Then  thrice  the  mounted  squadrons  ride  around 
The  fire,  and  Arcite's  name  they  thrice  resound  : 
Hail !  and  farewell !  they  shouted  thrice  amain, 
Thrice  facing  to  the  left,  and  thrice  they  tum'd  again : 
Still  as  they  turn'd,  they  beat  their  clattering  shields  ; 
The  women  mix  their  cries  ;  and  clamour  fills  the  fields. 
The  warHke  wakes  continued  all  the  night, 
And  funeral  games  were  play'd  at  new  returning  light ; 
Who  naked  wrestled  best,  besmear'd  with  oil. 
Or  who  with  gauntlets  gave  or  took  the  foil, 


PALAMON  AND  ARCrTE.  351 

I  will  not  tell  you,  nor  would  you  attend  ; 
But  briefly  haste  to  my  long  story's  end. 

I  pass  the  rest ;  the  year  was  fully  moum'd, 
And  Palamon  long  since  to  Thebes  returned : 
When  by  the  Grecians'  general  consent, 
At  Athens  Theseus  held  his  parhament : 
Among  the  laws  that  pass'd,  it  was  decreed. 
That  conquer'd  Thebes  from  bondage  shoidd  be  freed ; 
Reserving  homage  to  the  Athenian  throne, 
To  which  the  sovereign  summon'd  Palamon. 
Unknowing  of  the  cause,  he  took  his  way. 
Mournful  in  mind,  and  still  in  black  array. 

The  monarch  mounts  the  throne,  and,  placed  on  high, 
Commands  into  the  court  the  beauteous  Emily : 
So  call'd,  she  came ;  the  senate  rose,  and  paid 
Becoming  reverence  to  the  royal  maid. 
And  first,  soft  whispers  through  the  assembly  went ; 
With  silent  wonder  then  they  watch'd  the  event : 
All  hush'd,  the  king  arose  with  awful  grace, 
Deep  thought  was  in  his  breast,  and  counsel  in  his  face. 
At  length  he  sigh'd  ;  and  having  first  prepared 
The  attentive  audience,  thus  his  will  declared. — 

The  Cause  and  Spring  of  motion,  from  above, 
Hung  down  on  earth  the  golden  chain  of  Love : 
Great  was  the  effect,  and  high  was  his  intent. 
When  peace  among  the  jarring  seeds  he  sent. 
Fire,  flood,  and  earth,  and  air,  by  this  were  bound. 
And  Love,  the  common  link,  the  new  creation  crown'd. 
The  chain  stiU  holds ;  for  though  the  forms  decay, 
Eternal  matter  never  wears  away : 
The  same  first  Mover  certain  bounds  has  placed, 
How  long  those  perishable  forms  shall  last : 
Nor  can  they  last  beyond  the  time  assign'd 
By  that  all-seeing  and  all-making  mind  : 
Shorten  their  hours  they  may ;  for  will  is  free ; 
But  never  pass  the  appointed  destiny. 
So  men  oppressed,  when  weary  of  their  breath, 
Throw  off  the  burden,  and  suborn  their  death. 
Then  since  those  forms  begin,  and  have  their  end, 
On  some  unalter'd  cause  they  sure  depend : 
Parts  of  the  whole  are  we;  but  God  the  whole: 
Who  gives  us  life,  and  animating  soul. 
Eor  nature  cannot  from  a  part  derive 
That  being,  which  the  whole  can  only  give : 


352  PALAMON  AND  ARCITB. 

He  perfect,  stable ;  but  imperfect  we, 
Subject  to  change,  and  different  in  degree ; 
Plants,  beasts,  and  man  ;  and,  as  our  organs  are, 
"VVe  more  or  less  of  his  perfection  share. 
But  by  a  long  descent,  the  ethereal  fire 
Corrupts  ;  and  forms,  the  mortal  part,  expire : 
As  he  withdraws  his  virtue,  so  they  pass, 
And  the  same  matter  makes  another  mass  : 
This  law  the  Omniscient  Power  was  pleased  to  give, 
That  every  kind  should  by  succession  live : 
That  individuals  die,  his  will  ordains  ; 
The  propagated  species  still  remains. 
The  monarch  oak,  the  patriarch  of  the  trees, 
Shoots  rising  up,  and  spreads  by  slow  degrees  ; 
Three  centuries  he  grows,  and  three  he  stays. 
Supreme  in  state,  and  in  three  more  decays ; 
So  wears  the  paving  pebble  in  the  street, 
And  towns  and  towers  their  fatal  periods  meet : 
So  rivers,  rapid  once,  now  naked  lie, 
Forsaken  of  their  springs  ;  and  leave  thoir  channels  dry. 
So  man,  at  first  a  drop,  dilates  with  heat. 
Then,  form'd,  the  little  heart  begins  to  beat ; 
Secret  he  feeds,  unknowing  in  the  cell ; 
'  t  length,  for  hatching  ripe',  he  breaks  the  shell, 
And  struggles  into  breath,  and  cries  for  aid ; 
Then,  helpless,  in  his  mother's  lap  is  laid. 
He  creeps,  he  walks,  and  issuing  into  man. 
Grudges  their  life,  from  whence  his  own  began ; 
Reckless  of  laws,  affects  to  rule  alone. 
Anxious  to  reign,  and  restless  on  the  throne : 
First  vegetive,  then  feels,  and  reasons  last ; 
Rich  of  three  souls,  and  lives  all  three  to  waste. 
Some  thus  ;  but  thousands  more  in  flower  of  age : 
For  few  arrive  to  run  the  latter  stage. 
Sunk  in  the  first,  in  battle  some  are  slain, 
And  others,  whelm' d  beneath  the  stormy  main. 
What  makes  all  this,  but  Jupiter  the  king. 
At  whose  command  we  perish,  and  we  spring  ? 
Then  'tis  our  best,  since  thus  ordained  to  die, 
To  make  a  virtue  of  necessity ; 
Take  what  he  gives,  since  to  rebel  is  vain  ; 
The  bad  grows  better,  which  we  well  sustain  ; 
And  could  we  choose  the  time,  and  choose  aright, 
*Tis  best  to  die,  our  honour  at  the  height. 


PALAMON  AND  ARCITE.  353 

When  we  have  done  our  ancestors  no  shame, 
But  served  our  friends,  and  well  secured  our  fame ; 
Then  shoiild  we  wish  our  happy  life  to  close, 
And  leave  no  more  for  fortune  to  dispose : 
So  should  we  make  our  death  a  glad  relief 
From  future  shame,  from  sickness,  and  from  grief ; 
Enjoying  while  we  live  the  present  hour. 
And  dying  in  our  excellence  and  flower. 
Then  round  our  death-bed  every  friend  should  run, 
And  joyous  of  our  conquest  early  won  : 
While  the  malicious  world  with  envious  tears  / 

Should  grudge  our  happy  end,  and  wish  it  their^^^^ 
Since  then  our  Arcite  is  with  honour  dead, 
Why  should  we  mourn,  that  he  so  soon  is  freed, 
Or  call  untimely,  what  the  gods  decreed  ? 
With  grief  as  just,  a  friend  may  be  deplored, 
From  a  foul  prison  to  free  air  restored. 
Ought  he  to  thank  his  kinsman  or  his  wife, 
Could  tears  recall  him  into  wretched  life  1 
Their  sorrow  hurts  themselves  ;  on  him  is  lost ; 
And  worse  than  both,  offends  his  happy  ghost. 
What  then  remains,  but,  after  past  annoy. 
To  take  the  good  vicissitude  of  joy  ? 
To  thank  the  gracious  gods  for  what  they  give, 
Possess  our  souls,  and  while  we  live,  to  live  ? 
Ordain  we  then  two  sorrows  to  combine, 
And  in  one  point  the  extremes  of  grief  to  join ; 
That  thence  resulting  joy  may  be  renew'd, 
As  jarring  notes  in  harmony  conclude. 
Then  I  propose  that  Palamon  shall  be 
In  marriage  join'd  with  beauteous  Emily ; 
For  which  already  I  have  gain'd  the  assent 
Of  my  free  people  in  full  parliament. 
Long  love  to  her  has  borne  the  faithful  knight, 
And  well  deserved,  had  Fortune  done  him  right : 
'Tis  time  to  mend  her  fault ;  since  Emily 
By  Arcite's  death  from  former  vows  is  free  : 
If  you,  fair  sister,  ratify  the  accord. 
And  take  him  for  your  husband  and  your  lord, 
'Tis  no  dishonour  to  confer  your  grace 
On  one  descended  from  a  royal  race  : 
And  were  he  less,  yet  years  of  service  past 
From  grateful  souls  exact  reward  at  last ; 
32 


354  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

Pity  is  Heaven's  and  your's  ;  nor  can  she  find 

A  throne  so  soft  as  in  a  woman's  mind. 

He  said  ; — she  bhish'd  ;  and  as  o'eraw'd  by  might, 

Seem'd  to  give  Theseus,  what  she  gave  the  knight. 

Then  turning  to  the  Theban  thus  he  said  ; 

Small  arguments  are  needful  to  persuade 

Your  temper  to  comply  with  my  command  ; 

And  speaking  thus,  he  gave  Emilia's  hand. 

Smiled  Venus,  to  behold  her  own  true  knight  • 

Obtain  the  conquest,  though  he  lost  the  fight, 

And  bless' d  with  nuptial  bliss  the  sweet  laborious  night. 

Eros,  and  Anteros,  on  either  side, 

One  fired  the  bridegroom,  and  one  warm'd  the  bride  ; 

And  long-attending  Hymen,  from  above, 

Shower'd  on  the  bed  the  whole  Idalian  grove. 

All  of  a  tenor  was  their  after-life, 

No  day  discolour 'd  with  domestic  strife  ; 

No  jealousy,  but  mutual  truth  believed, 

Secure  repose,  and  kindness  undeceived. 

Thus  Heaven,  beyond  the  compass  of  his  thought, 

Sent  him  the  blessing  he  so  dearly  bought. 

So  may  the  Queen  of  Love  long  duty  bless, 
And  all  true  lovers  find  the  same  success. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX ; 

OR,  THE  TALE   OF  THE  NUN's  PRIEST. 

There  lived,  as  authors  tell,  in  days  of  yore, 
A  widow  somewhat  old,  and  very  poor : 
Deep  in  a  cell  her  cottage  lonely  stood. 
Well  thatch'd,  and  under  covert  of  a  wood. 
This  dowager,  on  whom  my  tale  I  found. 
Since  last  she  laid  her  husband  in  the  ground, 
A  simple  sober  life,  in  patience,  led. 
And  had  but  just  enough  to  buy  her  bread ; 
Bat  h'uswifing  the  little  Heaven  had  lent, 
She  duly  paid  a  groat  for  quarter  rent ; 
And  pinch'd  her  belly,  with  her  daughters  two, 
To  bring  the  year  about  with  much  ado. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  V  355 

The  cattle  in  her  homestead  were  three  sows, 
An  ewe  call'd  Mally,  and  three  brinded  cows. 
Her  parlour-window  stuck  with  herbs  around, 
Of  savoury  smell ;  and  rushes  strew'd  the  ground. 
A  maple-dresser  in  her  hall  she  had, 
On  which  full  many  a  slender  meal  she  made ; 
For  no  delicious  morsel  pass'd  her  throat ; 
According  to  her  cloth  she  cut  her  coat : 
No  poignant  sauce  she  knew,  nor  costly  treat, 
Her  hunger  gave  a  relish  to  her  meat : 
A  sparing  diet  did  her  health  assure  ; 
Or  sick,  a  pepper  posset  was  her  cure. 
Before  the  day  was  done,  her  work  she  sped, 
And  never  went  by  candle-light  to  bed  : 
With  exercise  she  sweat  ill  humours  out, 
Her  dancing  was  not  hinder'd  by  the  gout. 
Her  poverty  was  glad  ;  her  heart  content. 
Nor  knew  she  what  the  spleen  or  vapours  meant. 

Of  wine  she  never  tasted  through  the  year, 
But  white  and  black  was  all  her  homely  cheer : 
Brown  bread,  and  milk,  (but  first  she  skimm'd  her  bowls) 
And  bacon  rashers  singed  upon  the  coals. 
On  holy  days  an  egg,  or  two  at  most ;  ^ 
But  her  ambition  never  reach'd  to  roast. 

A  yard  she  had  with  pale«  enclosed  about, 
Some  high,  some  low,  and  a  dry  ditch  without. 
Within  this  homestead  lived,  without  a  peer, 
For  crowing  loud,  the  noble  Chanticleer ;    ^^ 
So  hight  her  cock,  whose  singing  did  surpass 
The  merry  notes  of  organs  at  the  mass. 
More  certain  was  the  crowing  of  the  cock 
To  number  hours,  than  is  an  abbey-clock  ; 
And  sooner  than  the  matin-bell  was  rung, 
He  clapp'd  his  wings  upon  his  roost,  and  sung : 
For  when  degrees  fifteen  ascended  right, 
By  sure  instinct  he  knew  'twas  one  at  night. 
High  was  his  comb,  and  coral-red  withal, 
In  dents  embattled  hke  a  castle  wall ; 
His  bill  was  raven-black,  and  shone  like  jet ; 
Blue  were  his  legs,  and  orient  were  his  feet : 
White  were  his  nails,  like  silver  to  behold, 
His  body  glittering  like  the  burnish'd  gold. 
This  gentle  cock,  for  solace  of  his  Hfe, 
Six  misses  had,  besides  his  lawful  wife ; 


356  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

Scandal,  that  spares  no  king,  though  ne'er  so  good. 
Says,  they  were  all  of  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
His  sisters  both  by  sire  and  mother's  side ; 
And  sure  their  likeness  show'd  them  near  allied. 
But  make  the  worst,  the  monarch  did  no  more, 
Than  all  the  Ptolemys  had  done  before  : 
When  incest  is  for  interest  of  a  nation, 
'Tis  made  no  sin  by  holy  dispensation. 
Some  lines  have  been  maintain'd  by  this  alone, 
Which  by  their  common  ughness  are  known. 

But  passing  this  as  from  our  tale  apart, 
Dame  Partlet  was  the  sovereign  of  his  heart : 
Ardent  in  love,  outrageous  in  his  play. 
He  feather'd  her  a  hundred  times  a  day : 
And  she,  that  was  not  only  passing  fair. 
But  was  withal  discreet,  and  debonair, 
Resolved  the  passive  doctrine  to  fulfil, 
Though  loth  ;  and  let  him  work  his  wicked  will : 
At  board  and  bed  was  aifable  and  kind, 
According  as  their  marriage-vow  did  bind. 
And  as  the  Church's  precept  had  enjoin'd. 
Even  since  she  was  a  se'nnight  old,  they  say, 
Was  chaste  and  humble  to  her  dying  day. 
Nor  chick  nor  hen  was  known  to  disobey. 

By  this  her  husband's  heart  she  did  obtain ; 
What  cannot  beauty,  join'd  with  virtue,  gain  ! 
She  was  his  only  joy,  and  he  her  pride  : 
She,  when  he  walked,  went  pecking  by  his  side ; 
If,  spurning  up  the  ground,  he  sprung  a  com, 
The  tribute  in  his  bill  to  her  was  borne. 
But  oh  !  what  joy  it  was  to  hear  him  sing 
In  summer,  when  the  day  began  to  spring, 
Stretching  his  neck,  and  warbling  in  his  throat, 
Solus  cum  sola,  then  was  all  his  note. 
For  in  the  days  of  yore,  the  birds  of  parts 
Were  bred  to  speak,  and  sing,  and  learn  the  liberal  arts. 

It  happ'd  that  perching  on  the  parlour-beam 
Amidst  his  wives,  he  had  a  deadly  dream, 
Just  at  the  dawn  ;  and  sigh'd,  and  groan'd  so  fast, 
As  every  breath  he  drew  would  be  his  last. 
Dame  Partlet,  ever  nearest  to  his  side, 
Heard  all  his  piteous  moan,  and  how  he  cried 
For  help  from  gods  and  men  ;  and  sore  aghast 
She  peck'd  and  pull'd,  and  waken'd  him  at  last. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  357 

Dear  heart,  said  she,  for  love  of  Heaven  declare 
Your  pain,  and  make  me  partner  of  your  care. 
You  groan,  Sir,  ever  since  the  morning-light. 
As  something  had  disturb'd  your  noble  spright. 

And,  Madam,  well  I  might,  said  Chanticleer, 
Never  was  Shrove-ti de-cock  in  such  a  fear. 
Even  still  I  run  all  over  in  a  sweat. 
My  princely  senses  not  recover' d  yet. 
For  such  a  dream  I  had  of  dire  portent, 
That  much  I  fear  my  body  will  be  shent : 
It  bodes  I  shall  have^wars  and  woful  strife, 
Or  in  a  loathsome  dungeon  end  my  Hfe. 
Know,  dame,  I  dreamt  within  my  troubled  breast, 
That  in  our  yard  I  saw  a  murderous  beast, 
That  on  my  body  would  have  made  arrest. 
With  waking  eyes  I  ne'er  beheld  his  fellow ; 
His  colour  was  betwixt  a  red  and  yellow : 
Tipp'd  was  his  tail,  and  both  his  pricking  ears 
Were  black  ;  and  much  unlike  his  other  hairs : 
The  rest,  in  shape  a  beagle's  whelp  throughout, 
"With  broader  forehead,  and  a  sharper  snout : 
Deep  in  his  front  were  sunk  his  glowing  eyes. 
That  yet  methinks  I  see  him  with  surprise. 
Eeach  out  your  hand,  I  drop  with  clammy  sweat. 
And  lay  it  to  my  heart,  and  feel  it  beat. 

Now  fie  for  shame,  quoth  she,  by  Heaven  above, 
Thou  hast  for  ever  lost  thy  lady's  love  ; 
No  woman  can  endure  a  recreant  knight. 
He  must  be  bold  by  day,  and  free  by  night : 
Our  sex  desires  a  husband  or  a  friend. 
Who  can  our  honour  and  his  own  defend ; 
Wise,  hardy,  secret,  liberal  of  his  purse  : 
A  fool  is  nauseous,  but  a  coward  worse  : 
No  bragging  coxcomb,  yet  no  baffled  knight. 
How  dar'st  thou  talk  of  love,  and  dar'st  not  fight  ? 
How  dar'st  thou  tell  thy  dame  thou  art  afiear'd  ? 
Hast  thou  no  manly  heart,  and  hast  a  beard  ? 

If  aught  from  fearful  dreams  may  be  divined, 
They  signify  a  cock  of  dunghill  kind. 
All  dreams,  as  in  old  Galen  I  have  read. 
Are  from  repletion  and  complexion  bred  ; 
From  rising  fumes  of  indigested  food. 
And  noxious  humours  that  infect  the  blood ; 
32* 


358  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

And  sure,  my  lord,  if  I  can  read  aright. 

These  foohsh  fancies  you  have  had  to-night, 

Are  certain  symptoms  (in  the  canting  style) 

Of  boiling  choler,  and  abounding  bile  ; 

This  yellow  gall  that  in  your  stomach  floats, 

Engenders  all  these  visionary  thoughts. 

When  choler  overflows,  then  dreams  are  bred 

Of  flames,  and  all  the  family  of  red  ; 

Red  dragons,  and  red  beasts,  in  sleep  we  view, 

For  humours  are  distinguish'd  by  their  hue. 

From  hence  we  dream  of  wars  and  warlike  things. 

And  wasps  and  hornets  with  their  double  wings. 

Choler  adust  congeals  our  blood  with  fear, 

Then  black  bulls  toss  us,  and  black  devils  tear. 

In  sanguine  airy  dreams  aloft  we  bound, 

With  rheums  oppress'd,  we  sink  in  rivers  drown'd. 

More  I  could  say,  but  thus  conclude  my  theme, 
The  dominating  humour  makes  the  dream. 
Cato  was  in  his  time  accounted  wise, 
And  he  condemns  them  all  for  empty  lies. 
Take  my  advice,  and  when  we  fly  to  ground. 
With  laxatives  preserve  your  body  sound, 
And  purge  the  peccant  humours  that  abound. 
I  should  be  loth  to  lay  you  on  a  bier ; 
And  though  there  lives  no  'pothecary  near, 
I  dare  for  once  prescribe  for  your  disease, 
And  save  long  bills,  and  a  danin'd  doctor's  fees. 

Two  sovereign  herbs,  which  I  by  practice  know, 
And  both  at  hand  (for  in  our  yard  they  grow) 
On  peril  of  my  soul  shall  rid  you  wholly 
Of  yellow  choler,  and  of  melancholy : 
You  must  both  purge  and  vomit ;  but  obey, 
And  for  the  love  of  Heaven  make  no  delay. 
Since  hot  and  dry  in  your  complexion  join. 
Beware  the  sun  when  in  a  vernal  sign  ; 
For  when  he  mounts  exalted  in  the  Ram, 
If  then  he  finds  your  body  in  a  flame, 
Replete  with  choler,  I  dare  lay  a  groat, 
A  tertian  ague  is  at  least  your  lot. 
Perhaps  a  fever  (which  the  gods  forefend) 
May  bring  your  youth  to  some  untimely  end : 
And  therefore.  Sir,  as  you  desire  to  Hve, 
A  day  or  two  before  your  laxative. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  POX.  359 

Take  just  three  worms,  nor  under  nor  above, 

Because  the  gods  unequal  numbers  love.  ^ 

These  digestives  prepare  you  for  your  purge  ; 

Of  fumatory,  centaury,  and  spurge, 

And  of  ground-ivy  add  a  leaf  or  two, 

AU  which  within  our  yard  or  garden  grow. 

Eat  these,  and  be,  my  lord,  of  better  cheer : 

Your  father's  son  was  never  born  to  fear. 

Madam,  quoth  he,  gra'mercy  for  your  care, 
But  Cato,  whom  you  quoted,  you  may  spare : 
'Tis  true,  a  wise  and  worthy  man  he  seems, 
And  (as  you  say)  gave  no  belief  to  dreams  : 
But  other  men  of  more  authority, 
And,  by  the  immortal  powers,  as  wise  as  he, 
Maintain,  with  sounder  sense,  that  dreams  forebode ; 
For  Homer  plainly  says  they  come  from  God. 
Nor  Cato  said  it :  but  some  modern  fool 
Imposed  in  Cato's  name  on  boys  at  school. 

Believe  me.  Madam,  morning  dreams  foreshow 
The  events  of  things,  and  future  weal  or  woe  : 
Some  truths  are  not  by  reason  to  be  tried, 
But  we  have  sure  experience  for  our  guide. 
An  ancient  author,  equal  with  the  best, 
Relates  this  tale  of  dreams  among  the  rest. 

Two  friends  or  brothers,  with  devout  intent. 
On  some  far  pilgrimage  together  went. 
It  happen'd  so  that,  when  the  sun  was  down, 
They  just  arrived  by  twilight  at  a  town  : 
That  day  had  been  the  baiting  of  a  bull, 
'Twas  at  a  feast,  and  every  inn  so  full, 
That  no  void  room  in  chamber,  or  on  ground, 
And  but  one  sorry  bed  was  to  be  found ; 
And  that  so  little  it  would  hold  but  one. 
Though  till  this  hour  they  never  lay  alone. 

So  were  they  forced  to  part ;  one  stay'd  behind, 
His  fellow  sought  what  lodging  he  could  find : 
At  last  he  found  a  stall  where  oxen  stood. 
And  that  he  rather  chose  than  lie  abroad. 
'Twas  in  a  farther  yard  without  a  door  ; 
But,  for  his  ease,  well  litter'd  was  the  floor. 

His  fellow,  who  the  narrow  bed  had  kept, 
Was  weary,  and  without  a  rocker  slept : 
Supine  he  snored  ;  but,  in  the  dead  of  night. 
He  dreamt  his  friend  appear'd  before  his  sight, 


360  THE   COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

Who,  with  a  ghastly  look  and  doleful  cry, 
Said,  Help  me,  brother,  or  this  night  I  die : 
Arise,  and  help,  before  all  help  be  vain, 
Or  in  an  ox's  stall  I  shall  be  slain. 

Roused  from  his  rest  he  waken' d  in  a  start, 
Shivering  with  horror,  and  with  aching  heart ; 
At  length  to  cure  himself  by  reason  tries  ; 
'Tis  but  a  dream,  and  what  are  dreams  but  lies  ? 
So  thinking  changed  his  side,  and  closed  his  eyes. 
His  dream  returns  ;  his  friend  appears  again  : 
The  murderers  come  ;  now  help,  or  I  am  slain  : 
'Twas  but  a  vision  still,  and  visions  are  but  vain. 
He  dreamt  the  third  ;  but  now  his  friend  appeared 
Pale,  naked,  pierced  with  wounds,  with  blood  besmear'd  •. 
Thrice  warn'd,  awake  !  said  he  ;  relief  is  late, 
The  deed  is  done  ;  but  thou  revenge  my  fate ! 
Tardy  of  aid,  unseal  thy  heavy  eyes, 
Awake,  and  with  the  dawning  day  arise  : 
Take  to  the  western-gate  thy  ready  way. 
For  by  that  passage  they  my  corpse  convey : 
My  corpse  is  in  a  tumbril  laid,  among 
The  filth  and  ordure,  and  enclosed  with  dung. 
That  cart  arrest,  and  raise  a  common  cry; 
For  sacred  hunger  of  my  gold  I  die  : 
Then  show'd  his  grisly  wounds  :  and  last  he  drew 
A  piteous  sigh  ;  and  took  a  long  adieu. 

The  frighted  friend  arose  by  break  of  day. 
And  found  the  stall  where  late  his  fellow  lay. 
Then  of  his  impious  host  inquiring  more. 
Was  answer'd  that  his  guest  was  gone  before  : 
Muttering  he  went,  said  he,  by  morning-light. 
And  much  complain'd  of  his  ill  rest  by  ni'ght. 
This  raised  suspicion  in  the  pilgrim's  mind  ; 
Because  all  hosts  are  of  an  evil  kind. 
And  oft  to  share  the  spoil  with  robbers  join'd. 

His  dream  confirm'd  his  thought ;  with  troubled  look 
Straight  to  the  western-gate  his  way  he  took  ; 
There,  as  his  dream  foretold,  a  cart  he  found, 
That  carried  compost  forth  to  dung  the  ground. 
This  when  the  pilgrim  saw,  he  stretch'd  his  throaty 
And  cried  out  murder  with  a  yelling  note. 
My  murder'd  fellow  in  this  cart  lies  dead. 
Vengeance  and  justice  on  the  villain's  head ; 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  361 

You,  magistrates,  who  sacred  laws  dispense, 
On  you  I  call  to  punish  this  offence. 

The  word  thus  given  ;  within  a  little  space, 
The  mob  came  roaring  out,  and  throng'd  the  place. 
All  in  a  trice  they  cast  the  cart  to  ground, 
And  in  the  dung  the  murder'd  body  found  ; 
Though  breathless,  warm,  and  reeking  from  the  wound. 
Good  Heaven,  whose  darling  attribute  we  find 
Is  boundless  grace,  and  mercy  to  mankind. 
Abhors  the  cruel ;  and  the  deeds  of  night 
By  wondrous  ways  reveals  in  open  light : 
Murder  may  pass  unpunish'd  for  a  time,  { 
But  tardy  justice  will  o'ertake  the  crime.  ) 
And  oft  a  speedier  p^in  the  guilty  feels. 
The  hue  and  cry  of  Heaven  pursues  him  at  the  heels, 
Fresh  from  the  fact ;  as  in  the  present  case, 
The  criminals  are  seized  upon  the  place  : 
Carter  and  host  confronted  face  to  face. 
Stiff  in  denial,  as  the  law  appoints. 
On  engines  they  distend  their  tortured  joints  : 
So  was  confession  forced,  the  offence  was  known, 
And  public  justice  on  the  offenders  done. 

Here  may  you  see  that  visions  are  to  dread ; 
And  in  the  page  that  follows  this,  I  read 
Of  two  young  merchants,  whom  the  hope  of  gain 
Induced  in  partnership  to  cross  the  main  : 
Waiting  till  willing  winds  their  sails  supplied, 
Within  a  trading-town  they  long  abide, 
FuU  fairly  situate  on  a  haven's  side. 

One  evening  it  befel,  that  looking  out. 
The  wind  they  long  had  wish'd  was  come  about : 
Well  pleased  they  went  to  rest ;  and  if  the  gale 
Till  morn  continued,  both  resolved  to  sail. 
But  as  together  in  a  bed  they  lay. 
The  younger  had  a  dream  at  break  of  day. 
A  man  he  thought  stood  frowning  at  his  side  : 
Who  warn'd  him  for  his  safety  to  provide. 
Nor  put  to  sea,  but  safe  on  shore  abide. 
I  coma,  thy  genius,  to  command  thy  stay;' 
Trust  not  the  winds,  for  fatal  is  the  day, 
And  death  unhoped  attends  the  watery  way. 

The  vision  said  ;  and  vanish'd  from  his  sight : 
The  dreamer  waken'd  in  a  mortal  fright ; 


362  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

Then  puU'd  his  drowsy  neighbour,  and  declared 
What  in  his  skimber  he  had  seen  and  heard. 
His  friend  smiled  scornful,  and  with  proud  contempt 
Rejects  as  idle  what  his  fellow  dreamt. 
Stay,  who  will  stay :  for  me  no  fears  restrain, 
Who  follow  Mercury  the  god  of  gain  ; 
Let  each  man  do  as  to  his  fancy  seems, 
I  wait,  not  I,  till  you  have  better  dreams. 
Dreams  are  but  interludes  which  fancy  makes  ; 
"When  monarch  reason  sleeps,  this  mimic  wakes : 
Compounds  a  medley  of  disjointed  things, 
A  mob  of  cobblers,  and  a  court  of  kings  : 
Light  fumes  are  merry,  grosser  fumes  are  sad : 
Both  are  the  reasonable  soul  run  mad  : 
And  many  monstrous  forms  in  sleep  we  see, 
That  neither  were,  nor  are,  nor  e'er  can  be. 
Sometimes  forgotten  things  long  cast  behind 
Rush  forward  in  the  brain,  and  come  to  mind. 
The  nurse's  legends  are  for  truths  received, 
And  the  man  dreams  but  what  the  boy  believed. 

Sometimes  we  but  rehearse  a  former  play, 
The  night  restores  our  actions  done  by  day ; 
As  hounds  in  sleep  will  open  for  their  prey. 
In  short  the  farce  of  dreams  is  of  a  piece. 
Chimeras  all ;  and  more  absurd,  or  less  : 
you,  who  believe  in  tales,  abide  alone  ; 
Whate'er  I  get  this  voyage,  is  my  own. 

Thus  while  he  spake,  he  heard  the  shouting  crew 
That  call'd  aboard,  and  took  his  last  adieu. 
The  vessel  went  before  a  merry  gale, 
And  for  quick  passage  put  on  every  sail : 
But  when  least  fear'd,  and  even  in  open  day, 
The  mischief  overtook  her  in  the  way : 
Whether  she  sprung  a  leak,  I  cannot  find, 
Or  whether  she  was  overset  with  wind. 
Or  that  some  rock  below  her  bottom  rent ; 
But  down  at  once  with  all  her  crew  she  went : 
Her  fellow-ships  from  far  her  loss  descried  ; 
But  only  she  was  sunk,  and  all  were  safe  beside. 

By  this  example  you  are  taught  again, 
That  dreams  and  visions  are  not  always  vain : 
But  if,  dear  Partlet,  you  are  still  in  doubt, 
Another  tale  shall  make  the  former  out. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  363 

Kenelm,  the  son  of  Kenulph,  Mercia's  king, 
Whose  holy  life  the  legends  loudly  sing, 
Warn'd  in  a  dream,  his  murder  did  foretel 
From  point  to  point  as  after  it  befel : 
All  circumstances  to  his  nurse  he  told, 
(A  wonder,  from  a  child  of  seven  years  old  :) 
The  dream  with  horror  heard,  the  good  old  wife 
From  treason  counsell'd  him  to  guard  his  Hfe ; 
But  close  to  keep  the  secret  in  his  mind, 
For  a  boy's  vision  small  belief  would  find. 
The  pious  child,  by  promise  bound,  obey'd, 
Nor  was  the  fatal  murder  long  delay'd : 
By  Quenda  slain,  he  fell  before  his  time, 
Made  a  young  martyr  by  his  sister's  crime.     ^ 
The  tale  is  told  by  venerable  Bede,  ^ 

Which,  at  your  better  leisure,  you  may  read.  \ 

Macrobius,  too,  relates  the  vision  sent 
To  the  great  Scipio,  with  the  famed  event : 
Objections  makes,  but  after  makes  replies. 
And  iidds,  that  dreams  are  often  prophecies. 

Of  Daniel,  you  may  read  in  holy  writ, 
Who,  when  the  king  his  vision  did  forget. 
Could  word  for  word  the  wondrous  dream  repeat. 
Nor  less  of  patriarch  Joseph  understand. 
Who  by  a  dream  enslaved  the  Egyptian  land, 
The  years  of  plenty  and  of  dearth  foretold. 
When,  for  their  bread,  their  liberty  they  sold. 
Nor  must  the  exalted  butler  be  forgot, 
Nor  he  whose  dream  presaged  his  hanging  lot. 

And  did  not  Croesus  the  same  death  foresee, 
Raised  in  his  vision  on  a  lofty  tree  1 
The  wife  of  Hector,  in  his  utmost  pride. 
Dreamt  of  his  death  the  night  before  he  died ; 
Well  was  he  warn'd  from  battle  to  refrain,  _ 
But  men  to  death  decreed  are  warn'd  in  vain : 
He  dared  the  dream,  and  by  his  fatal  foe  was  slain. 

Much  more  I  know,  which  I  forbear  to  speak, 
For  see  the  ruddy  day  begins  to  break ; 
Let  this  suffice,  that  plainly  I  foresee 
My  dream  was  bad,  and  bodes  adversity : 
But  neither  pills  nor  laxatives  I  Hke, 
They  only  serve  to  make  the  well-man  sick : 
Of  these  his  gain  the  sharp  physician  makes, 
And  often  gives  a  purge,  but  seldom  takes : 


364  THE  COCK  AND  THE  POX. 

They  not  correct,  but  poison  all  the  blood, 
And  ne'er  did  any  but  the  doctors  good. 
Their  tribe,  trade,  trinkets,  I  defy  them  all ; 
With  every  work  of  'pothecary's  hall. 
These  melancholy  matters  I  forbear : 

But  let  me  tell  thee,  Partlet  mine,  and  swear, 
That  when  I  view  the  beauties  of  thy  face, 
I  fear  not  death,  nor  dangers,  nor  disgrace: 
So  may  my  soul  have  bliss,  as  when  I  spy 
The  scarlet  red  about  thy  partridge  eye, 
"While  thou  art  constant  to  thy  own  true  knight, 
While  thou  art  mine,  and  I  am  thy  delight. 
All  sorrows  at  thy  presence  take  their  flight. 
For  true  it  is,  as  in  principio, 
Mulier  est  hominis  confusio. 
Madam,  the  meaning  of  this  Latin  is. 
That  woman  is  to  man  his  sovereign  bliss. 
For  when  by  night  I  feel  your  tender  side, 
Though  for  the  narrow  perch  I  cannot  ride. 
Yet  I  have  such  a  solace  in  my  mind, 
That  all  my  boding  cares  are  cast  behind ; 
And  even  already  I  forget  my  dream  : — 
He  said,  and  downward  flew  from  off  the  beam. 
For  day-light  now  began  apace  to  spring. 
The  thrush  to  whistle,  and  the  lark  to  sing. 
Then  crowing  clapp'd  his  wings,  the  appointed  call, 
To  chuck  his  wives  together  in  the  hall. 

By  this  the  widow  had  unbarr'd  the  door, 
And  Chanticleer  went  strutting  out  before. 
With  royal  courage,  and  with  heart  so  light, 
As  show'd  he  scom'd  the  visions  of  the  night. 
Now  roaming  in  the  yard,  he  spurn'd  the  ground. 
And  gave  to  Partlet  the  first  grain  he  found. 
Then  often  feather'd  her  with  wanton  play. 
And  trod  her  twenty  times  ere  prime  of  day  : 
And  took  by  turns  and  gave  so  much  delight, 
Her  sisters  pined  with  envy  at  the  sight. 
He  chuck'd  again,  when  other  corns  he  found. 
And  scarcely  deign'd  to  set  a  foot  to  ground. 
But  swagger'd  like  a  lord  about  his  hall, 
And  his  seven  wives  came  running  at  his  call. 

'Twas  now  the  month  in  which  the  world  began, 
^If  March  beheld  the  first  created  man :) 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  365 

And  since  the  vernal  equinox,  the  sun, 

In  Aries  twelve  degrees,  or  more,  had  run  ; 

When  casting  up  his  eyes  against  the  light, 

Both  month,  and  day,  and  hour  he  measured  right ; 

And  told  more  truly  than  the  Ephemeris : 

For  art  may  err,  but  nature  cannot  miss. 

Thus  numbering  times  and  seasons  in  his  breast, 
His  second  crowing  the  third  hour  confessed. 
Then  turning,  said  to  Partlet,  See,  my  dear, 
How  lavish  nature  has  adorn'd  the  year  ; 
How  the  pale  primrose  and  blue  violet  spring, 
And  birds  essay  their  throats  disused  to  sing : 
All  these  are  ours  ;  and  I  with  pleasure  see 
Man  strutting  on  two  legs,  and  aping  me : 
An  unfledged  creature,  of  a  lumpish  frame, 
Endow'd  with  fewer  particles  of  flame  ; 
Our  dame  sits  cow'ring  o'er  a  kitchen  fire, 
I  draw  fresh  air,  and  nature's  works  admire  : 
And  e'en  this  day  in  more  delight  abound, 
Than,  since  I  was  an  egg,  I  ever  found. 

The  time  shall  come  when  Chanticleer  shall  wish 
His  words  unsaid,  and  hate  his  boasted  bliss  : 
The  crested  bird  shall  by  experience  know, 
Jove  made  not  him  his  masterpiece  below ; 
And  learn  the  latter  end  of  joy  is  woe. 
The  vessel  of  his  bliss  to  dregs  is  run. 
And  Heaven  will  have  him  taste  his  other  tun. 

Ye  wise,  draw  near,  and  hearken  to  my  tale. 
Which  proves  that  oft  the  proud  by  flattery  fall : 
The  legend  is  as  true  I  undertake 
As  Tristran  is,  and  Launcelot  of  the  Lake  : 
Which  all  our  ladies  in  such  reverence  hold, 
As  if  in  Book  of  Martyrs  it  w^ere  told. 

A  fox  full-fraught  with  seeming  sanctity. 
That  fear'd  an  oath,  but,  like  the  devil,  would  lie  ; 
Who  look'd  like  Lent,  and  had  the  holy  leer. 
And  durst  not  sin  before  he  said  his  prayer  ; 
This  pious  cheat,  that  never  suck'd  the  blood. 
Nor  chew'd  the  flesh  of  lambs, —  but  when  he  could ; 
Had  pass'd  three  summers  in  the  neighbouring  wood  : 
And  musing  long,  whom  next  to  circumvent. 
On  Chanticleer  his  wicked  fancy  bent : 
And  in  his  high  imagination  cast. 
By  stratagem  to  gratify  his  taste. 
33 


366  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

The  plot  contrived,  before  the  break  of  day, 
Saint  Reynard  through  the  hedge  had  made  his  way ; 
The  pale  was  next,  but  proudly  with  a  bound 
He  leapt  the  fence  of  the  forbidden  ground  : 
Yet  fearing  to  be  seen,  within  a  bed 
Of  coleworts  he  conceal'd  his  wily  head  ; 
Then  sculk'd  till  afternoon,  and  watch'd  his  time, 
(As  murderers  use)  to  perpetrate  his  crime. 

0  hypocrite,  ingenious  to  destroy, 

O  traitor,  worse  than  Sinon  was  to  Troy! 

O  vile  subverter  of  the  Gallic  reign. 

More  false  than  Gano  was  to  Charlemagne  ! 

O  Chanticleer,  in  an  unhappy  hour 

Didst  thou  forsake  the  safety  of  thy  bower  : 

Better  for  thee  thou  hadst  believed  thy  dream, 

And  not  that  day  descended  from  the  beam  ! 

But  here  the  doctors  eagerly  dispute  : 
Some  hold  predestination  absolute  : 
Some  clerks  maintain,  that  Heaven  at  first  foresees 
And  in  the  virtue  of  foresight  decrees. 
If  this  be  so  ;  then  prescience  binds  the  will, 
And  mortals  are  not  free  to  good  or  ill ; 
For  what  he  first  foresaw,  he  must  ordain, 
Or  its  eternal  prescience  may  be  vain  : 
As  bad  for  us  as  prescience  had  not  been  ; 
For  first,  or  last,  he  's  author  of  the  sin. 
And  who  says  that,  let  the  blaspheming  man 
Say  worse  even  of  the  devil,  if  he  can. 
For  how  can  that  eternal  power  be  just 
To  punish  man,  who  sins  because  he  must  ? 
Or  how  can  he  reward  a  virtuous  deed. 
Which  is  not  done  by  us  ;  but  first  decreed  ? 

1  cannot  bolt  this  matter  to  the  bran. 
As  Bradwardin  and  holy  Austin  can  ; 
If  prescience  can  determine  actions  so 
That  we  must  do,  because  he  did  foteknow, 
Or  that  foreknowing,  yet  our  choice  is  free, 
Not  forced  to  sin  by  strict  necessity  ; 
This  strict  necessity  they  simple  call, 
Another  sort  there  is  conditional. 

The  first  so  binds  the  wiU,  that  things  foreknown 
By  spontaneity,  not  choice,  are  done. 
Thus  galley-slaves  tug  wilhng  at  their  oar, 
Content  to  work,  in  prospect  of  the  shore  ; 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  367 

But  would  not  work  at  all,  if  not  constrained  before. 
That  other  does  not  liberty  constrain, 
But  man  may  either  act,  or  may  refrain. 
Heaven  made  us  agents  free  to  good  or  ill. 
And  forced  it  not,  though  he  foresaw  the  will. 
Freedom  was  first  bestow'd  on  human  race, 
And  prescience  only  held  the  second  place. 

If  he  could  make  such  agents  wholly  free, 
I  not  dispute,  the  point 's  too  high  for  me  ; 
For  Heaven's  unfathom'd  power  what  man  can  sound, 
Or  put  to  his  omnipotence  a  bound  ] 
He  made  us  to  his  image,  all  agree  ; 
That  image  is  the  soul,  and  that  must  be, 
Or  not  the  Maker's  image,  or  be  free. 

But  whether  it  were  better  man  had  been 
By  nature  bound  to  good,  not  free  to  sin, 
I  waive;  for  fear  of  splitting  on  a  rock.  ^^ 

The  tale  I  tell  is  only  of  a  cock  ;  ( 

Who  had  not  run  the  hazard  of  his  life. 
Had  he  believed  his  dream,  and  not  his  wife : 
For  women,  with  a  mischief  to  their  kind. 
Pervert,  with  bad  advice,  our  better  mind. 
A  woman's  counsel  brought  us  first  to  woe, 
And  made  her  man  his  paradise  forego. 
Where  at  heart's  ease  he  lived  ;  and  might  have  been 
As  free  from  sorrow  as  he  was  from  sin. 
For  what  the  devil  had  their  sex  to  do. 
That,  born  to  folly,  they  presumed  to  know, 
And  could  not  see  the  serpent  in  the  grass  1 
But  I  myself  presume,  and  let  it  pass. 
-    Silence  in  times  of  sufiering  is  the  best, 
'Tis  dangerous  to  disturb  an  hornet's  nest. 
In  other  authors  you  may  find  enough, 
But  all  they  say  of  dames  is  idle  stufil 
Legends  of  lying  wits  together  bound. 
The  wife  of  Bath  would  throw  'em  to  the  ground ; 
These  are  the  words  of  Chanticleer,  not  mine, 
I  honour  dames,  and  think  their  sex  divine. 

Now  to  continue  what  my  tale  begun : — 
Lay  Madame  Partlet  basking  in  the  sun. 
Breast-high  in  sand  :  her  sisters,  in  a  row, 
Enjoy 'd  the  beams  above,  the  warmth  below. 
The  cock,  that  of  his  flesh  was  ever  free. 
Sung  merrier  than  the  mermaid  in  the  sea : 


36b  THE  COCK  AND  THE  POX. 

And  so  befel,  that  as  he  cast  his  eye 

Among  the  coleworts  on  a  butterfly, 

He  saw  false  Reynard  where  he  lay  full  low : 

I  need  not  swear  he  had  no  list  to  crow  : 

But  cried,  cock,  cock,  and  gave  a  sudden  start, 

As  sore  dismay'd  and  frighted  at  his  heart. 

For  birds  and  beasts,  inform'd  by  Nature,  know 

Kinds  opposite  to  theirs,  and  fly  their  foe. 

So  Chanticleer,  who  never  saw  a  fox, 

Yet  shunn'd  him  as  a  sailor  shuns  the  rocks. 

But  the  false  loon,  who  could  not  work  his  will 
By  open  force,  employ 'd  his  flattering  skill ; 
I  hope,  my  lord,  said  he,  I  not  ofiend  ; 
Are  you  afraid  of  me,  that  am  your  friend  ? 
I  were  a  beast  indeed  to  do  you  wrong, 
I,  who  have  loved  and  honour'd  you  so  long : 
Stay,  gentle  Sir,  nor  take  a  false  alarm, 
For  on  my  soul  I  never  meant  you  harm. 
I  come  no  spy,  nor  as  a  traitor  press, 
To  learn  the  secrets  of  your  soft  recess : 
Far  be  from  Reynard  so  profane  a  thought, 
But  by  the  sweetness  of  your  voice  was  brought : 
For,  as  I  bid  my  beads,  by  chance  I  heard 
The  song  as  of  an  angel  in  the  yard  ; 
A  song  that  would  have  charm'd  the  infernal  gods, 
And  banish'd  horror  from  the  dark  abodes : 
Had  Orpheus  sung  it  in  the  nether  sphere, 
So  much  the  hymn  had  pleased  the  tyrant's  ear. 
The  wife  had  been  detain'd,  to  keep  the  husband  there. 

My  lord,  your  sire  familiarly  I  knew, 
A  peer  deserving  such  a  son  as  you : 
He,  with  your  lady-mother,  (whom  Heaven  rest) 
Has  often  graced  my  house,  and  been  my  guest : 
To  view  his  living  features  does  me  good, 
For  I  am  your  poor  neighbour  in  the  wood ; 
And  in  my  cottage  should  be  proud  to  see 
The  worthy  heir  of  my  friend's  family. 

But  since  I  speak  of  singing,  let  me  say. 
As  with  an  upright  heart  I  safely  may, 
That,  save  yourself,  there  breathes  not  on  the  groxmd 
One  like  your  father  for  a  silver-sound. 
So  sweetly  would  he  wake  the  winter-day. 
That  matrons  to  the  church  mistook  their  way, 
And  thought  they  heard  the  merry  organ  play. 


THE  COCK  AND  THE. FOIL  369 

And  he  to  raise  his  voice  with  artful  care, 

(What  will  not  beaux  attempt  to  please  the  fair  ?) 

On  tiptoe  stood  to  sing  with  greater  strength, 

And  stretch'd  his  comely  neck  at  all  the  length  : 

And  while  he  strain'd  his  voice  to  pierce  the  skies, 

As  saints  in  raptures  use,  would  shut  his  eyes, 

That  the  sound  striving  through  the  narrow  throat, 

His  winking  might  avail  to  mend  the  note. 

By  this,  in  song,  he  never  had  his  peer, 

From  sweet  Cecilia  down  to  Chanticleer  ; 

Not  Maro's  muse,  who  sung  the  mighty  man, 

Nor  Pindar's  heavenly  lyre,  nor  Horace  when  a  swan. 

Your  ancestors  proceed  from  race  divine  : 

From  Brennus  and  Belinus  is  your  line  ; 

Who  gave  to  sovereign  Rome  such  loud  alarms. 

That  e'en  the  priests  were  not  excused  from  arms. 

Besides,  a  famous  monk  of  modem  times 
Has  left  of  cocks  recorded  in  his  rhymes, 
That  of  a  parish  priest  the  son  and  heir, 
(When  sons  of  priests  were  from  the  proverb  clear) 
Affronted  once  a  cock  of  noble  kind. 
And  either  lamed  his  legs,  or  struck  him  blind ; 
For  whixjh  the  clerk  his  father  was  disgraced. 
And  in  his  benefice  another  placed. 
Now  sing,  my  lord,  if  not  for  love  of  me, 
Yet  for  the  sake  of  sweet  Saint  Charity ; 
Make  hills,  and  dales,  and  earth,  and  heaven  rejoice, 
And  emulate  your  father's  angel-voice. 

The  cock  was  pleased  to  hear  him  speak  so  fair, 
And  proud  beside,  as  solar  people  are  ; 
Nor  could  the  treason  from  the  truth  descry. 
So  was  he  ravish'd  with  this  flattery : 
So  much  the  more,  as  from  a  little  elf. 
He  had  a  high  opinion  of  himself ; 
Though  sickly,  slender,  and  not  large  of  limb, 
Concluding  all  the  world  was  made  for  him. 

Ye  princes,  raised  by  poets  to  the  gods. 
And  Alexander'd  up  in  lying  odes, 
Beheve  not  qvery  flattering  knave's  report, 
There  's  many  a  Reynard  lurking  in  the  court ; 
And  he  shall  be  received  with  more  regard, 
And  listen'd  to,  than  modest  truth  is  heard. 

This  Chanticleer,  of  whom  the  story  sings. 
Stood  high  upon  his  toes,  and  clapp'd  his  wings ; 
33* 


370  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

Then  stretch'd  his  neck,  and  winked  with  both  his  eyes, 

Ambitious  as  he  sought  the  Olympic  prize. 

But  while  he  pain'd  himself  to  raise  his  note, 

False  Reynard  rush'd,  and  caught  him  by  the  throat. 

Then  on  his  back  he  laid  the  precious  load, 

And  sought  his  wonted  shelter  of  the  wood  ; 

Swiftly  he  made  his  way,  the  mischief  done, 

Of  all  unheeded,  and  pursued  by  none. 

Alas,  what  stay  is  there  in  human  state, 
Or  who  can  shun  inevitable  fate  '? 
The  doom  was  written,  the  decree  was  passed, 
Ere  the  foundations  of  the  world  were  cast ! 
In  Aries  though  the  sun  exalted  stood. 
His  patron-planet  to  procure  his  good ; 
Yet  Saturn  was  his  mortal  foe,  and  he, 
In  Libra  raised,  opposed  the  same  degree  : 
The  rays  both  good  and  bad,  of  equal  power, 
Each  thwarting  other,  made  a  mingled  hour. 

On  Friday  morn  he  dreamt  this  direful  dream, 
Cross  to  the  worthy  native,  in  his  scheme  ! 
Ah,  blissful  Venus,  goddess  of  delight. 
How  could'st  thou  suffer  thy  devoted  knight 
On  thy  own  day  to  fall  by  foe  oppress'd. 
The  wight  of  all  the  world  who  served  thee  best  1 
Who,  true  to  love,  was  aU  for  recreation. 
And  minded  not  the  work  of  propagation. 
Gaufride,  who  could'st  so  well  in  rhyme  complain 
The  death  of  Richard  with  an  arrow  slain, 
Why  had  not  I  thy  muse,  or  thou  my  heart, 
To  sing  this  heavy  dirge  with  equal  art ! 
That  I  like  thee  on  Friday  might  complain ; 
For  on  that  day  was  Coeur  de  Lion  slain. 
Not  louder  cries,  when  lUum  was  in  flames. 
Were  sent  to  heaven  by  woful  Trojan  dames, 
When  Pyrrhus  toss'd  on  high  his  burnished  blade, 
And  offer'd  Priam  to  his  father's  shade. 
Than  for  the  cock  the  widow'd  poultry  made. 
Fair  Partlet.  first,  when  he  was  borne  from  sight, 
With  sovereign  shrieks  bewail'd  her  captive  knight  "• 
Far  louder  than  the  Carthaginian  wife, 
When  Asdrubal  her  husband  lost  his  life, 
When  she  beheld  the  smouldering  flames  ascend. 
And  all  the  Panic  glories  at  an  end : 


THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX.  371 

Willing  into  the  fires  she  plunged  her  head, 
With  greater  ease  than  others  seek  their  bed. 
Not  more  aghast  the  matrons  of  renown, 
When  tyrant  Nero  burn'd  the  imperial  town, 
Shriek'd  for  the  downfal  in  a  doleful  cry, 
For  which  their  guiltless  lords  were  doom'd  to  die. 

Now  to  my  story  I  return  again  : 
The  trembhng  widow,  and  her  daughters  twain, 
This  woful  cackling  cry  with  horror  heard, 
Of  those  distracted  damsels  in  the  yard : 
And  starting  up,  beheld  the  heavy  sight. 
How  Keynard  to  the  forest  took  his  flight. 
And  cross  his  back,  as  in  triumphant  scorn, 
The  hope  and  pillar  of  the  house  was  borne. 

The  fox,  the  wicked  fox!  was  all  the  cry; 
Out  from  his  house  ran  every  neighbour  nigh : 
The  vicar  first,  and  after  him  the  crew. 
With  forks  and  staves  the  felon  to  pursue. 
Kan  Coll  our  dog,  and  Talbot  with  the  band, 
And  Malkin,  with  her  distaff  in  her  hand : 
Kan  cow  and  calf,  and  family  of  hogs. 
In  panic  horror  of  pursuing  dogs  ; 
With  many  a  deadly  grunt  and  doleful  squeak, 
Poor  swine,  as  if  their  pretty  hearts  would  break. 
The  shouts  of  men,  the  women  in  dismay. 
With  shrieks  augment  the  terror  of  the  day. 
The  ducks,  that  heard  the  proclamation  cried. 
And  fear'd  a  persecution  might  betide, 
Full  twenty  miles  from  town  their  voyage  take. 
Obscure  in  rushes  of  the  hquid  lake. 
The  geese  fly  o'er  the  bam  ;  the  bees  in  arms 
Drive  headlong  from  their  waxen  cells  in  swarms. 
Jack  Straw  at  London-stone,  with  aU  his  rout. 
Struck  not  the  city  with  so  loud  a  shout ; 
Not  when  with  Enghsh  hate  they  did  pursue 
A  Frenchman,  or  an  unbelieving  Jew : 
Not  when  the  welkin  rung  with  "  one  and  all ; " 
And  echoes  bounded  back  from  Fox's  hall : 
Earth  seem'd  to  sink  beneath,  and  heaven  above  to  fall. 
With  might  and  main  they  chased  the  murderous  fox, 
With  brazen  trumpets,  and  inflated  box. 
To  kindle  Mars  with  mihtary  sounds. 
Nor  wanted  horns  to  inspire  sagacious  hounds. 
bb2 


372  THE  COCK  AND  THE  FOX. 

But  see  how  Fortune  can  confound  the  wise, 
And,  when  they  least  expect  it,  turn  the  dice. 
The  captive-cock,  who  scarce  could  draw  his  breath. 
And  lay  within  the  very  jaws  of  death  ; 
Yet  in  this  agony  his  fancy  wrought, 
And  fear  supplied  him  with  this  happy  thought : 
Your's  is  the  prize,  victorious  princef  said  he, 
The  vicar  my  defeat,  and  all  the  village  see. 
Enjoy  your  friendly  fortune  while  you  may, 
And  bid  the  churls  that  envy  you  the  prey, 
Call  back  their  mongrel  curs,  and  cease  their  cry. 
See,  fools,  the  shelter  of  the  wood  is  nigh. 
And  Chanticleer  in  your  despite  shall  die, 
He  shall  be  piuck'd  and  eaten  to  the  bone. 

^Tis  well  advised,  in  faith  it  shall  be  done  ; 
This  Reynard  said  :  but  as  the  word  he  spoke. 
The  prisoner  with  a  spring  from  prison  broke  : 
Then  stretch'd  his  feather'd  fans  with  all  his  might, 
And  to  the  neighbouring  maple  wing'd  his  flight. 

Whom  when  the  traitor  safe  on  tree  beheld, 
He  cursed  the  gods,  with  shame  and  sorrow  fiU'd ; 
Shame  for  his  folly,  sorrow  out  of  time. 
For  plotting  an  unprofitable  crime  ; 
Yet  mastering  both,  the  artificer  of  lies 
Renews  the  assault,  and  his  last  battery  tries. 

Though  I,  said  he,  did  ne'er  in  thought  offend. 
How  justly  may  my  lord  suspect  his  friend  ? 
The  appearance  is  against  me,  I  confess, 
Who  seemingly  have  put  you  in  distress  : 
You,  if  your  goodness  does  not  plead  my  cause, 
May  think  I  broke  all  hospitable  laws. 
To  bear  you  from  your  palace-yard  by  might. 
And  put  your  noble  person  in  a  fright : 
This,  since  you  take  it  ill,  I  must  repent. 
Though  Heaven  can  witness,  with  no  bad  intent 
I  practised  it,  to  make  you  taste  your  cheer 
With  double  pleasure,  first  prepared  by  fear. 
So  loyal  subjects  often  seize  their  prince. 
Forced  (for  his  good)  to  seeming  violence, 
Yet  mean  his  sacred  person  not  the  least  offence. 
Descend  !  so  help  me  Jove  !  as  you  shall  find 
That  Reynard  comes  of  no  dissembling  kind. 

Nay,  quoth  the  cock  ;  but  I  beshrew  us  both, 
If  I  believe  a  saint  upon  his  oath  : 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  373 

An  honest  man  may  take  a  knave's  advice, 
Bat  idiots  only  may  be  cozen'd  twice  : 
Once  warn'd  is  well  bewared  :  Not  flattering  lies 
Shall  soothe  me  more  to  sing  with  winking  eyes, 
And  open  mouth,  for  fear  of  catching  flies. 
Who  blindfold  walks  upon  a  river's  brim, 
When  he  should  see,  has  he  deserved  to  swim  ?— 
Better,  sir  Cock,  let  all  contention  cease, 
Come  down,  said  Reynard,  let  us  treat  of  peace.— 
A  peace  with  all  my  soul,  said  Chanticleer ; 
But,  with  your  favour,  I  will  treat  it  here  : 
A^d  lest  the  truce  with  treason  should  be  mix'd, 
"lis  my  concern  to  have  the  tree  betwixt. 

THE  MORAL. 

In  this  plain  fable  you  the  effect  may  seo 
Of  negligence,  and  fond  credulity : 
And  learn  besides  of  flatterers  to  beware, 
Then  most  pernicious  when  they  speak  too  fair. 
The  cock  and  fox,  the  fool  and  knave  imply ; 
The  truth  is  moral,  though  the  tale  a  lie. 
Who  spoke  in  parables,  I  dare  not  say ; 
But  sure  he  knew  it  was  a  pleasing  way, 
Sound  sense,  by  plain  example,  to  convey. 
And  in  a  heathen  author  we  may  find. 
That  pleasure  with  instruction  should  be  join'd ; 
So  take  the  corn,  and  leave  the  chaff  behind. 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF; 

OR,  THE  LADY  IN  THE  ARBOUR.       A  VISION. 

Now  turning  from  the  wintry  signs,  the  sun 

His  course  exalted  through  the  Ram  had  run, 

And  whirling  up  the  skies,  his  chariot  drove 

Through  Taurus,  and  the  lightsome  realms  of  love ; 

Where  Venus  from  her  orb  descends  in  showers, 

To  glad  the  ground,  and  paint  the  fields  with  flowers : 

When  first  the  tender  blades  of  grass  appear, 

And  buds,  that  yet  the  blast  of  Eurus  fear, 

Stand  at  the  door  of  life,  and  doubt  to  clothe  the  year : 


374  THfi  FLOWER  AND  THE  I-EAF. 

Till  gentle  heat,  and  soft  repeated  rains, 
Make  the  green  blood  to  dance  within  their  veins : 
Then,  at  their  call,  embolden'd  out  they  come, 
And  swell  the  gems,  and  burst  the  narrow  room ; 
Broader  and  broader  yet,  their  blooms  display. 
Salute  the  welcome  sun,  and  entertain  the  day. 
Then  from  their  breathing  souls  the  sweets  repair 
To  scent  the  skies,  and  purge  the  unwholesome  air : 
Joy  spreads  the  heart,  and,  with  a  general  song, 
Spring  issues  out,  and  leads  the  jolly  months  along. 

In  that  sweet  season,  as  in  bed  I  lay, 
And  sought  in  sleep  to  pass  the  night  away, 
I  turn'd  my  weary  side,  but  still  in  vain. 
Though  full  of  youthful  health,  and  void  of  pain : 
Cares  I  had  none,  to  keep  me  from  my  rest, 
For  love  had  never  enter'd  in  my  breast ; 
I  wanted  nothing  Fortune  could  supply. 
Nor  did  she  slumber  till  that  hour  deny. 
I  wonder'd  then,  but  after  found  it  true. 
Much  joy  had  dried  away  the  balmy  dew  : 
Seas  would  be  pools,  without  the  brushing  air, 
To  curl  the  waves  ;  and  sure  some  little  care 
Should  weary  nature  so,  to  make  her  want  repair. 

When  Chanticleer  the  second  watch  had  sung, 
Scorning  the  scorner  sleep,  from  bed  I  sprimg  ; 
And  dressing,  by  the  moon,  in  loose  array, 
Pass'd  out  in  open  air,  preventing  day. 
And  sought  a  goodly  grove,  as  fancy  led  my  way. 
Straight  as  a  line  in  beauteous  order  stood 
Of  oaks  unshorn  a  venerable  wood  ; 
Fresh  was  the  grass  beneath,  and  every  tree. 
At  distance  planted  in  a  due  degree, 
Their  branching  arms  in  air  with  equal  space 
Stretch'd  to  their  neighbours  with  a  long  embrace : 
And  the  new  leaves  on  every  bough  were  seen, 
Some  ruddy-colour'd,  some  of  lighter  green. 
The  painted  birds,  companions  of  the  spring, 
Hopping  from  spray  to  spray,  were  heard  to  sing. 
Both  eyes  and  ears  received  a  like  delight. 
Enchanting  music,  and  a  charming  sight. 
On  Philomel  I  fix'd  my  whole  desire  ; 
And  hsten'd  for  the  queen  of  all  the  choir  ; 
Fain  would  I  hear  her  heavenly  voice  to  sing ; 
And  wanted  yet  an  omen  to  the  spring. 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF.  375 

Attending  long  in  vain,  I  took  the  way, 
Which  through  a  path,  but  scarcely  printed,  lay ; 
In  narrow  mazes  oft  it  seem'd  to  meet, 
And  look'd,  as  Ughtly  press'd  by  fairy  feet. 
Wand'ring  I  wai'd  alone,  for  still  methought 
To  some  strange  end  so  strange  a  path  was  wrought : 
At  last  it  led  me  where  an  arbour  stood. 
The  sacred  receptacle  of  the  wood  : 
This  place  unmark'd,  though  oft  I  walk'd  the  green, 
In  all  my  progress  I  had  never  seen  : 
And  seized  at  once  with  wonder  and  dehght. 
Gazed  all  around  me,  new  to  the  transporting  sight. 
'Twas  bench'd  with  turf,  and  goodly  to  be  seen. 
The  thick  young  grass  arose  in  fresher  green  : 
The  mound  was  newly  made,  no  sight  could  pass 
Betwixt  the  nice  partitions  of  the  grass  ; 
The  well-united  sods  so  closely  lay ; 
And  all  around  the  shades  defended  it  from  day  : 
For  sycamores  with  eglantine  were  spread, 
A  hedge  about  the  sides,  a  covering  over  head. 
And  so  the  fragrant  brier  was  wove  between. 
The  sycamore  and  flowers  were  mix'd  with  gi'een, 
That  nature  seem'd  to  vary  the  delight. 
And  satisfied  at  once  the  smell  and  sight. 
The  master  workman  of  the  bower  was  known 
Through  fairy-lands,  and  built  for  Oberon  ;  . 

Who  twining  leaves  with  such  proportion  drew, 
They  rose  by  measure,  and  by  rule  they  grew ; 
No  mortal  tongue  can  half  the  beauty  tell : 
For  none  but  hands  divine  could  work  so  well. 
Both  roof  and  sides  were  like  a  parlour  made, 
A  soft  recess,  and  a  cold  summer  shade  ; 
The  hedge  was  set  so  thick,  no  foreign  eye 
The  persons  placed  within  it  could  espy : 
But  all  that  pass'd  without  with  ease  was  seen, 
As  if  nor  fence  nor  tree  was  placed  between.  :. 

'Twas  bordered  with  a  field  ;  and  some  was  plain 
With  grass,  and  some  was  sow'd  with  rising  grain. 
That  (now  the  dew  with  spangles  deck'd  the  groimd) 
A  sweeter  spot  of  earth  was  never  found. 
I  look'd  and  look'd,  and  still  with  new  delight ; 
Such  joy  my  soul,  such  pleasures  fill'd  my  sight ; 
And  the  fresh  eglantine  exhaled  a  breath. 
Whose  odours  were  of  power  to  raise  from  death. 


376  THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

Nor  sullen  discontent,  nor  anxious  care, 
Even  thougli  brought  thither,  could  inhabit  there 
But  thence  th<^.y  fled  as  from  their  mortal  foe  ; 
For  this  sweet  \  lace  could  only  pleasure  know. 

Thus  as  I  mu  ed,  I  cast  aside  my  eye, 
And  saw  a  med.ar-tree  was  planted  nigh. 
The  spreading  branches  made  a  goodly  show, 
And  full  of  opening  blooms  was  every  bough. 
A  goldfinch  there  I  saw  with  gaudy  pride 
Of  painted  plumes,  that  hopp'd  from  side  to  side, 
Still  pecking  as  she  pass'd  ;  and  still  she  drew 
The  sweets  from  every  flower,  and  suck'd  the  dew : 
Sufficed  at  length,  she  warbled  in  her  throat, 
And  tuned  her  voice  to  many  a  merry  note. 
But  indistinct,  and  neither  sweet  nor  clear, 
Yet  such  as  sooth'd  my  soul,  and  pleased  my  ear. 

Her  short  performance  was  no  sooner  tried, 
"When  she  I  sought,  the  nightingale,  rephed : 
So  sweet,  so  shrill,  so  variously  she  sung. 
That  the  grove  echoed,  and  the  valleys  rung  : 
And  I  so  ravish'd  with  her  heavenly  note, 
I  stood  entranced,  and  had  no  room  for  thought, 
But  all  o'erpower'd  with  ecstasy  of  bliss, 
Was  in  a  pleasing  dream  of  paradise  ; 
At  length  I  waked  ;  and  looking  round  the  bower 
Search' d  every  tree,  and  pried  on  every  flower. 
If  any  where  by  chance  I  might  espy 
The  rural  poet  of  the  melody  : 
!For  still  methought  she  sung  not  far  away  ; 
At  last  I  found  her  on  a  laurel  spray. 
Close  by  my  side  she  sat,  and  fair  in  sight, 
JFull  in  a  line,  against  her  opposite  ; 
"Where  stood  with  eglantine  the  laurel  twined  ; 
And  both  their  native  sweets  were  well  conjoin'd. 

On  the  green  bank  I  sat,  and  listen'd  long ; 
(Sitting  was  more  convenient  for  the  song:) 
Nor  till  her  lay  was  ended  could  I  move, 
But  wished  to  dwell  for  ever  in  the  grove. 
Only  methought  the  time  too  swiftly  passed. 
And  every  note  I  fear'd  would  be  the  last. 
My  sight,  and  smell,  and  hearing  were  employed. 
And  all  three  senses  in  full  gust  enjoy'd. 
And  what  alone  did  all  the  rest  surpass, 
The  sweet  possession  of  the  fairy  place  ; 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  377 

SiDgle,  and  conscious  to  myself  alone 
Of  pleasures  to  the  excluded  world  unknown ; 
Pleasures  which  do  where  else  were  to  be  found, 
And  all  Elysium  in  a  spot  of  ground. 

Thus  while  I  sat  intent  to  see  and  hear, 
And  drew  perfumes  of  more  than  vital  air, ' 
All  suddenly  I  heard  the  approaching  sound 
Of  vocal  music  on  the  enchanted  ground  : 
An  host  of  saints  it  seem'd  so  full  the  choir ; 
As  if  the  bless' d  above  did  all  conspire 
To  join  their  voices,  and  neglect  the  lyre. 
At  length  there  issued  from  the  grove  behind 
A  fair  assembly  of  the  female  kind  : 
A  train  less  fair,  as  ancient  fathers  tell, 
Seduced  the  sons  of  heaven  to  rebel. 
I  pass  their  form,  and  every  charming  grace, 
Less  than  an  angel  would  their  worth  debase : 
But  their  attire,  like  liveries  of  a  kind, 
All  rich  and  rare,  is  fresh  within  my  mind. 
In  velvet,  white  as  snow,  the  troop  was  gown'd. 
The  seams  with  sparkling  emeralds  set  around : 
Their  hoods  and  sleeves  the  same  ;  and  purfled  o'er 
With  diamonds,  pearls,  and  all  the  shining  store 
Of  eastern  pomp  :  their  long  descending  train. 
With  rubies  edged  and  sapphires,  swept  the  plain : ' 
High  on  their  heads,  with  jewels  richly  set, 
Each  lady  wore  a  radiant  coronet. 
Beneath  the  circles,  all  the  choir  was  graced 
With  chaplets  green  on  their  fair  foreheads  placed. 
Of  laurel  some,  of  woodbine  many  more  ; 
And  wreaths  of  Agnus  castus  others  bore  ; 
These  last,  who  with  those  virgin-crowns  were  dress'd, 
Appear'd  in  higher  honour  than  the  rest. 
They  danced  around  ;  but  in  the  midst  was  seen 
A  lady  of  a  more  majestic  mien  ; 
By  stature,  and  by  beauty,  mark'd  their  sovereign  queen. 

She  in  the  midst  began  with  sober  grace  ; 
Her  servants'  eyes  were  fix'd  upon  her  face, 
And  as  she  moved  or  tum'd,  her  motions  view'd, 
Her  measures  kept,  and  step  by  step  pursued. 
Methought  she  trod  the  ground  with  greater  grace, 
With  more  of  godhead  shining  in  her  face  ; 
And  as  in  beauty  she  surpass'd  the  choir. 
So,  nobler  than  the  rest  was  her  attire. 
34 


378  THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP. 

A  crown  of  ruddy  gold  enclosed  her  brow, 
Plain  without  pomp,  and  rich  without  a  show ; 
-  A  branch  of  Agnus  castus  in  her  hand. 
She  bore  aloft  (her  sceptre  of  command)  ; 
Admired,  adored  by  all  the  circling  crowd, 
For  wheresoe'er  she  turn'd  her  face,  they  bow'd : 
And  as  she  danced,  a  roundelay  she  sung, 
In  honour  of  the  laurel,  ever  young  : 
She  raised  her  voice  on  high,  and  sung  so  clear, 
The  fawns  came  scudding  from  the  groves  to  hear : 
And  all  the  bending  forest  lent  an  ear. 
At  every  close  she  made,  the  attending  throng 
Eeplied,  and  bore  the  burden  of  the  song  : 
So  just,  so  small,  yet  in  so  sweet  a  note. 
It  seem'd  the  music  melted  in  the  throat. 

Thus  dancing  on,  and  singing  as  they  danced, 
They  to  the  middle  of  the  mead  advanced. 
Till  round  my  arbour  a  new  ring  they  made, 
And  footed  it  about  the  sacred  shade. 
O'erjoy'd  to  see  the  jolly  troop  so  near. 
But  somewhat  awed,  I  shook  with  holy  fear ; 
Yet  not  so  much,  but  that  I  noted  well 
Who  did  the  most  in  song  or  dance  exceL 

Not  long  I  had  observed,  when  from  afar 
I  heard  a  sudden  symphony  of  war  ; 
The  neighing  coursers,  and  the  soldiers'  cry, 
And  sounding  trumps  that  seem'd  to  tear  the  sky : 
I  saw  soon  after  this,  behind  the  grove 
From  whence  the  ladies  did  in  order  move, 
Come  issuing  out  in  arms  a  warrior  train, 
That  like  a  deluge  pour'd  upon  the  plain  : 
On  barbed  steeds  they  rode  in  proud  array, 
Thick  as  the  college  of  the  bees  in  May, 
When  swarming  o'er  the  dusky  fields  they  fly, 
New  to  the  flowers,  and  intercept  the  sky. 
So  fierce  they  drove,  their  coursers  were  so  fleet, 
That  the  turf  trembled  underneath  their  feet. 

To  tell  their  costly  furniture  were  long. 
The  summer's  day  would  end  before  the  song : 
To  purchase  but  the  tenth  of  all  their  store, 
Would  make  the  mighty  Persian  monarch  poor. 
Yet  what  I  can,  I  will ;  before  the  rest 
The  trumpets  issued  in  white  mantles  dress'd : 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  379 

A  numerous  troop,  and  all  their  heads  around 
With  chaplets  green  of  cerrial-oak  were  crown'd ; 
And  at  each  trumpet  wi^s  a  banner  bound, 
Which  waving  in  the  wind  display'd  at  large 
Their  masters'  coat  of  arms,  and  knightly  charge. 
Broad  were  the  banners,  and  of  snowy  hue, 
A  purer  web  the  silk- worm  never  drew. 
The  chief  about  their  necks  the  scutcheons  wore, 
With  orient  pearls  and  jewels  powdered  o'er : 
Broad  were  their  collars  too,  and  every  one 
Was  set  about  with  many  a  costly  stone. 
Next  these,  of  kings  at  arms  a  goodly  train 
In  proud  array  came  prancing  o'er  the  plain : 
Their  cloaks  were  cloth  of  silver  mix'd  with  gold, 
And  garlands  green  around  their  temples  roll'd : 
Rich  crowns  were  on  their  royal  scutcheons  placed, 
With  sapphires,  diamonds,  and  with  rubies  graced : 
And  as  the  trumpets  their  appearance  made> 
So  these  in  habits  were  alike  array'd  ; 
But  with  a  pace  more  sober,  and  more  slow ; 
And  twenty,  rank  in  rank,  they  rode  a-row. 
The  pursuivants  came  next,  im  number  more  ; 
And  like  the  heralds  each  his  scutcheon  bore  : 
Clad  in  white  velvet  all  their  troop  they  led, 
With  each  an  oaken  chaplet  on  his  head. 

Nine  royal  knights  in  equal  rank  succeed, 
Each  warrior  mounted  on  a  fiery  steed  ; 
In  golden  armour  glorious  to  behold  ; 
The  rivets  of  their  arms  were  nail'd  with  gold. 
Their  surcoats  of  white  ermine  fur  were  made  ; 
With  cloth  of  gold  between,  that  cast  a  glittering  shade. 
The  trappings  of  their  steeds  were  of  the  same  ;    • 
The  golden  fringe  even  set  the  ground  on  flame, 
And  drew  a  precious  trail :  a  crown  divine 
Of  laurel  did  about  their  temples  twine. 

Three  henchmen  were  for  every  knight  assign'd, 
All  in  rich  hvery  clad,  and  of  a  kind  ; 
White  velvet,  but  unshorn,  for  cloaks  they  wore, 
And  each  within  his  hand  a  truncheon  bore  : 
The  foremost  held  a  helm  of  rare  device  ; 
A  prince's  ransom  would  not  pay  the  price. 
The  second  bore  the  buckler  of  his  knight, 
The  third  of  cornel- wood  a  spear  upright, 
Headed  with  piercing  steel,  and  polish'd  bright. 


380  THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

Like  to  their  lords  their  equipage  was  seen, 

And  all  their  foreheads  crown'd  with  garlands  green. 

And  after  these  came  arm'd  with  spear  and  shield 
An  host  so  great  as  covered  all  the  field  : 
And  aU  their  foreheads,  like  the  knights  before, 
With  laurels  evergreen  were  shaded  o'er, 
Or  oak,  or  other  leaves  of  lasting  kind. 
Tenacious  of  the  stem,  and  hrm  against  the  wind. 
Some  in  their  hands,  beside  the  lance  and  shield, 
The  boughs  of  woodbine  or  of  hawthorn  held, 
Or  branches  for  their  mystic  emblems  took. 
Of  palm,  of  laurel,  or  of  cerrial-oak. 
Thus  marching  to  the  trumpet's  lofty  sound. 
Drawn  in  two  lines  adverse  they  wheel'd  around, 
And  in  the  middle  meadow  took  their  ground. 
Among  themselves  the  tourney  they  divide, 
In  equal  squadrons  ranged  on  either  si<]e. 
Then  turn'd  their  horses'  heads,  and  man  to  man, 
And  steed  to  steed  opposed,  the  jousts  began. 
They  lightly  set  their  lances  in  the  rest. 
And,  at  the  sign,  against  each  other  press'd : 
They  met.     I  sitting  at  my  ease  beheld 
The  mix'd  events,  and  fortunes  of  the  field. 
Some  broke  their  spears,  some  tumbled  horse  and  man, 
And  round  the  field  the  lighten'd  coursers  ran. 
An  hour  and  more,  like  tides,  in  equal  sway 
They  rush'd,  and  won  by  turns,  and  lost  the  day ; 
At  length  the  nine  (who  still  together  held) 
Their  fainting  foes  to  shameful  flight  compell'd, 
And  with  resistless  force  o'er-ran  the  field. 
Thus,  to  their  fame,  when  finish' d  was  the  fight. 
The  victoi-s  from  their  lofty  steeds  alight : 
Like  them  dismounted  all  the  warlike  train. 
And  two  by  two  proceeded  o'er  the  plain : 
Till  to  the  fair  assembly  they  advanced, 
Who  near  the  secret  arbour  sung  and  danced. 

The  ladies  left  their  measures  at  the  sight. 
To  meet  the  chiefs  returning  from  the  fight. 
And  each  with  open  arms  embraced  her  chosen  knight. 
Amid  the  plain  a  spreading  laurel  stood. 
The  grace  and  ornament  of  all  the  wood  : 
That  pleasing  shade  they  sought,  a  soft  retreat 
From  sudden  April  showers,  a  shelter  from  the  heat : 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  381 

Her  leafy  arms  with  such  extent  were  spread, 

So  near  the  clouds  was  her  aspiring  head, 

That  hosts  of  birds,  that  wing  the  liquid  air, 

Perch'd  in  the  boughs,  had  nightly  lodging  there  : 

And  flocks  of  sheep  beneath  the  shade  from  far 

Might  hear  the  ratthng  hail,  and  wintry  war ; 

From  heaven's  inclemency  here  found  retreat, 

Enjoy 'd  the  cool,  and  shunn'd  the  scorching  heat : 

A  hundred  knights  might  there  at  ease  abide  ; 

And  every  knight  a  lady  by  his  side  : 

The  trunk  itself  such  odours  did  bequeath, 

That  a  Moluccan  breeze  to  these  was  common' breath. 

The  lords  and  ladies  here,  approaching,  paid 

Their  homage,  with  a  low  obeisance  made  ; 

And  seem'd  to  venerate  the  sacred  shade. 

These  rites  perform' d,  their  pleasures  they  pursue. 

With  songs  of  love,  and  mix  with  measures  new ; 

Around  the  holy  tree  their  dance  they  frame. 

And  every  champion  leads  his  chosen  dame. 

I  cast  my  sight  upon  the  farther  field, 
And  a  fresh  object  of  delight  beheld  : 
For  from  the  region  of  the  West  I  heard 
New  music  sound,  and  a  new  troop  appear'd  ; 
Of  knights  and  ladies  mix'd  a  jolly  band. 
But  all  on  foot  they  march'd,  and  hand  in  hand. 

The  ladies  dress' d  in  richest  robes  were  seen 
Of  Florence  satin,  flower'd  with  white  and  green, 
And  for  a  shade  betwixt  the  bloomy  gridelin. 
The  borders  of  their  petticoats  below 
Were  guarded  thick  with  rubies  on  a  row ; 
And  every  damsel  wore  upon  her  head 
Of  flowers  a  garland  blended  white  and  red. 
Attired  in  mantles  all  the  knights  were  seen. 
That  gratified  the  view  with  cheerful  green : 
Their  chaplets  of  their  ladies'  colours  were, 
Composed  of  white  and  red,  to  shade  their  shining  hair. 
Before  the  merry  troop  the  minstrels  play'd  ; 
All  in  their  masters'  hveries  were  array' d, 
And  clad  in  green,  and  on  their  temples  wore 
The  chaplets  white  and  red  their  ladies  bore. 
Their  instruments  were  various  in  their  kind. 
Some  for  the  bow,  and  some  for  breathing  wind :  . 
Tne  psaltry,  pipe,  and  hautboy's  noisy  band, 
And  the  soft  lute  trembUng  beneath  the  touching  hand. 
34* 


382  THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

A  tuft  of  daisies  on  a  flowery  lay 
They  saw,  and  thitherward  they  bent  their  way ; 
To  this  both  knights  and  dames  their  homage  made, 
And  due  obeisance  to  the  daisy  paid. 
And  then  the  band  of  flutes  began  to  play, 
To  which  a  lady  sung  a  virelay : 
And  still  at  every  close  she  would  repeat 
The  burden  of  the  song,  The  daisy  is  so  sweet. 
The  daisy  is  so  sweet, — when  she  begun, 
The  troop  of  knights  and  dames  continued  on. 
The  concert  and  the  voice  so  charmed  my  ear, 
And  soothed  my  soul,  that  it  was  heaven  to  hear. 
But  soon  their  pleasure  pass'd  :  at  noon  of  day, 
The  sun  with  sultry  beams  began  to  play : 
Not  Sirius  shoots  a  fiercer  flame  from  high. 
When  with  his  poisonous  breath  he  blasts  the  sky ; 
Then  droop'd  the  fading  flow'rs  (their  beauty  fled) 
And  closed  their  sickly  eyes,  and  hung  the  head, 
And  rivell'd  up  with  heat,  lay  dying  in  their  bed. 
The  ladies  gasp'd,  and  scarcely  could  respire  ; 
The  breath  they  drew,  no  longer  air,  but  fire  ; 
The  fainty  knights  were  scorchM,  and  knew  not  where 
To  run  for  shelter,  for  no  shade  was  near  ; 
And  after  this  the  gathering  clouds  amain 
Pour'd  down  a  storm  of  rattling  hail  and  rain  : 
And  lightning  flash' d  betwixt :  the  field  and  flowers, 
Burnt  up  before,  were  buried  in  the  showers. 
The  ladies  and  the  knights,  no  shelter  nigh, 
Bare  to  the  weather  and  the  wintry  sky, 
Were  dropping  wet,  disconsolate,  and  wan, 
And  through  their  thin  array  received  the  rain : 
While  those  in  white,  protected  by  the  tree. 
Saw  pass  in  vain  the  assault,  and  stood  from  danger  free, 
But  as  compassion  moved  their  gentle  minds, 
When  ceased  the  storm,  and  silent  were  the  winds. 
Displeased  at  what,  not  suffering,  they  had  seen. 
They  went  to  cheer  the  faction  of  the  green  : 
The  queen  in  white  array,  before  her  band. 
Saluting,  took  her  rival  by  the  hand  ; 
So  did  the  knights  and  dames,  with  courtly  grace. 
And  with  behaviour  sweet  their  foes  embrace. 
Then  thus  the  queen  with  laurel  on  her  brow, 
Fair  sister,  I  have  suffer'd  in  your  woe  ; 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  383 

Nor  shall  be  wanting  aught  within  my  power 

For  your  rehef  in  my  refreshing  bower. 

That  other  answer'd  with  a  lowly  look, 

And  soon  the  gracious  invitation  took  : 

For  ill  at  ease  both  she  and  aU  her  train 

The  scorching  sun  had  borne,  and  beating  rain. 

Like  courtesy  was  used  by  all  in  white. 

Each  dame  a  dame  received,  and  every  knight  a  knight. 

The  laurel  champions  with  their  swords  invade 

The  neighbouring  forests,  where  the  jousts  were  made, 

And  sere- wood  from  the  rotten  hedges  took, 

And  seeds  of  latent  fire  from  flints  provoke  : 

A  cheerful  blaze  arose,  and  by. the  fire 

They  warm'd  their  frozen  feet,  and  dried  their  wet  attire. 

Refresh'd  with  heat,  the  ladies  sought  around 

For  virtuous  herbs,  which  gather'd  from  the  ground 

They  squeezed  the  juice,  and  cooling  ointment  made. 

Which  on  their  sun-burnt  cheeks,  and  their  chapt  skins 

they  laid  : 
Then  sought  green  salads,  which  they  bade  them  eat, 
A  sovereign  remedy  for  inward  heat. 

The  Lady  of  the  Leaf  ordain'd  a  feast. 
And  made  the  Lady  of  the  Flower  her  guest : 
When,  lo  !  a  bower  ascended  on  the  plain. 
With  sudden  seats  ordain'd,  and  large  for  either  train. 
This  bower  was  near  my  pleasant  arbour  placed, 
That  I  could  hear  and  see  whatever  pass'd  : 
The  ladies  sat  with  each  a  knight  between, 
Distinguish'd  by  their  colours,  white  and  green  ; 
The  vanquish' d  party  with  the  victors  join'd, 
Nor  wanted  sweet  discourse — ^the  banquet  of  the  mind. 
Meantime,  the  minstrels  play'd  on  either  side, 
Vain  of  their  art,  and  for  the  mastery  vied : 
The  sweet  contention  lasted  for  an  hour. 
And  reach'd  my  secret  arbour  from  the  bower. 

The  sun  was  set ;  and  Vesper,  to  supply 
His  absent  beams,  had  lighted  up  the  sky. 
When  Philomel,  ofiicious  all  the  day 
To  sing  the  service  of  the  ensuing  May, 
Fled  from  her  laurel  shade,  and  winged  her  flight 
Directly  to  the  queen  array'd  in  white  ; 
And  hopping,  sat  famiHar  on  her  hand, 
A  new  musician,  and  increased  the  band. 


384  SHE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF, 

The  goldfinch,  who,  to  shun  the  scalding  heat^ 
Had  changed  the  medlar  for  a  safer  seat. 
And  hid  in  bushes  'scaped  the  bitter  shower, 
Now  perch' d  upon  the  Lady  of  the  Flower ; 
And  either  songster  holding  out  their  throats, 
And  folding  up  their  wings,  renewed  their  notes : 
As  if  all  day,  preluding  to  the  fight, 
They  only  had  rehearsed,  to  sing  by  night. 
The  banquet  ended,  and  the  battle  done. 
They  danced  by  star-light  and  the  friendly  moon : 
And  when  they  were  to  part,  the  laureate  queen 
Supplied  with  steeds  the  lady  of  the  green, 
Her  and  her  train  conductipg  on  the  way. 
The  moon  to  follow,  and  avoid  the  day. 

This  when  I  saw,  inquisitive  to  know 
The  secret  moral  of  the  mystic  show, 
I  started  from  my  shade,  in  hopes  to  find 
Some  nymph  to  satisfy  my  longing  mind : 
And  as  my  fair  adventure  fell,  I  found 
A  lady  all  in  white,  with  laurel  crown'd. 
Who  closed  the  rear,  and  softly  paced  along, 
Kepeating  to  herself  the  former  song. 
With  due  respect  my  body  I  inchned. 
As  to  some  being  of  superior  kind. 
And  made  my  court  according  to  the  day. 
Wishing  her  queen  and  her  a  happy  May. 
Great  thanks,  my  daughter,  with  a  gracious  bow, 
She  said  ;  and  I,"  who  much  desired  to  know 
Of  whence  she  was,  yet  fearful  how  to  break 
My  mind,  adventured  humbly  thus  to  speak  : 
Madam,  might  I  presume  and  not  offend, 
So  may  the  stars  and  shining  moon  attend 
Your  nightly  sports,  as  you  vouchsafe  to  tell, 
What  nymphs  they  were  who  mortal  forms  excel. 
And  what  the  knights  who  fought  in  listed  fields  so  well  - 
To  this  the  dame  replied  :  Fair  daughter,  know, 
That  what  you  saw  was  all  a  fairy  show : 
And  all  those  airy  shapes  you  now  behold 
Were  human  bodies  once,  and  clothed  with  earthly  mould: 
Our  souls,  not  yet  prepared  for  upper  light. 
Till  doomsday  wander  in  the  shades  of  night ; 
This  only  hohday  of  all  the  year. 
We  privileged  in  sunshine  may  appear : 


l!HB  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAP.  386 

"With  songs  and  dance  we  celebrate  the  day, 

And  with  due  honours  usher  in  the  May. 

At  other  times  we  reign  by  night  alone, 

And  posting  through  the  skies  pursue  the  moon : 

But  when  the  moon  arises,  none  are  found ; 

For  cruel  Demogorgon  walks  the  round, 

And  if  he  finds  a  fairy  lag  in  Hght, 

He  drives  the  wretch  before,  and  lashes  into  night. 

All  courteous  are  by  kind  ;  and  ever  proud 
With  friendly  offices  to  help  the  good. 
Ill  every  land  we  have  a  larger  space 
Than  what  is  known  to  you  of  mortal  race : 
Wliere  we  with  green  adorn  our  fairy  bowers, 
And  even  this  grove,  unseen  before,  is  ours. 
Know  farther,  every  lady  clothed  in  white, 
And,  crown'd  with  oak  and  laurel  every  knight, 
Are  servants  to  the  Leaf,  by  liveries  known 
Of  innocence  ;  and  I  myself  am  one. 
Saw  you  not  her  so  graceful  to  behold. 
In  white  attire,  and  crown'd  with  radiant  gold  ? 
The  sovereign  lady  of  our  land  is  she, 
Diana  call'd,  the  queen  of  chastity : 
And,  for  the  spotless  name  of  maid  she  bears, 
That  Agnus  castus  in  her  hand  appears  ; 
And  all  her  train,  with  leafy  chaplets  crown'd, 
Were  for  unblamed  virginity  renown'd  ; 
But  those  the  chief  and  highest  in  command 
Who  bare  those  holy  branches  in  their  hand  : 
The  knights  adorn' d  with  laurel  crowns  are  they. 
Whom  death  nor  danger  ever  could  dismay. 
Victorious  names,  who  made  the  world  obey : 
Who,  while  they  Hved,  in  deeds  of  arms  excell'd, 
And  after  death  for  deities  were  held. 
But  those  who  wear  the  woodbine  on  their  brow, 
Were  knights  of  love,  who  never  broke  their  vow ; 
Firm  to  their  plighted  faith,  and  ever  free 
From  fears,  and  fickle  chance,  and  jealousy. 
The  lords  and  ladies,  who  the  woodbine  bear, 
As  true  as  Tristram  and  Isotta  were. 

Bui  what  are  those,  said  I,  the  unconquer'd  nine, 
Who  crown'd  with  laurel  wreaths  in  golden  armour  shine  I 
And  who  the  knights  in  green,  and  what  the  train 
Of  ladies  dress'd  with  daisies  on  the  plain  ? 


386  THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF. 

Why  both  the  bands  in  worship  disagree, 
And  some  adore  the  flower,  and  some  the  tree  ? 

Just  is  your  suit,  fair  daughter,  said  the  dame : 
Those  laurell'd  chiefs  were  men  of  mighty  fame ; 
Nine  worthies  were  they  call'd  of  different  rites, 
Three  Jews,  three  Pagans,  and  three  Christian  knights. 
These,  as  you  see,  ride  foremost  in  the  field, 
As  they  the  foremost  rank  of  honour  held. 
And  all  in  deeds  of  chivalry  excell'd  : 
Their  temples  wreath'd  with  leaves,  that  still  renew ; 
For  deathless  laurel  is  the  victor's  due  : 
Who  bear  the  bows  were  knights  in  Arthur's  reign, 
Twelve  they,  and  twelve  the  peers  of  Charlemagne : 
For  bows  the  strength  of  brawny  arms  imply, 
Emblems  of  valour  and  of  victory. 
Behold  an  order  yet  of  newer  date, 
Doubling  their  number,  equal  in  their  state ; 
Our  England's  ornament,  the  crown's  defence, 
In  battle  brave,  protectors  of  their  prince : 
Unchanged  by  fortune,  to  their  sovereign  true, 
For  which  their  manly  legs  are  bound  with  blue. 
These,  of  the  Garter  call'd,  of  faith  unstain'd 
In  fighting  fields  the  laurel  have  obtain'd. 
And  well  repaid  the  honours  which  they  gain'd. 
The  laurel  wreaths  were  first  by  Csesar  worn. 
And  still  they  Caesar's  successors  adorn  : 
One  leaf  of  this  is  immortality. 
And  more  of  worth  than  all  the  world  can  buy. 

One  doubt  remains,  said  I,  the  dames  in  green. 
What  were  their  qualities,  and  who  their  queen  i 
Flora  commands,  said  she,  those  nymphs  and  knights, 
Who  lived  in  slothful  ease  and  loose  delights ; 
Who  never  acts  of  honour  durst  pursue. 
The  men  inglorious  knights,  the  ladies  all  untrue : 
Who,  nursed  in  idleness,  and  train'd  in  courts, 
Pass'd  all  their  precious  hours  in  plays  and  sports, 
Till  death  behind  came  stalking  on  unseen. 
And  wither'd  (like  the  storm)  the  freshness  of  their  green. 
These,  and  their  mates,  enjoy  their  present  hour, 
And  therefore  pay  their  homage  to  the  Flower.         * 
But  knights  in  knightly  deeds  should  persevere, 
And  stifl  continue  what  at  first  they  were ; 
Continue  and  proceed  in  honour's  fair  career. 
No  room  for  cowardice  or  dull  delay ; 


THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  LEAF.  387 

From  good  to  better  they  should  urge  their  way. 

For  this  with  golden  spurs  the  chiefs  are  graced, 

With  pointed  rowels  arm'd  to  mend  their  haste. 

For  this  with  lasting  leaves  their  brows  are  bound ; 

For  laurel  is  the  sign  of  labour  crown'd, 

Which  bears  the  bitter  blast,  nor  shaken  falls  to  ground : 

From  winter  winds  it  suffers  no  decay, 

For  ever  fresh  and  fair,  and  every  month  is  May. 

Even  when  the  vital  sap  retreats  below, 

Even  when  the  hoary  head  is  hid  in  snow, 

The  hfe  is  in  the  leaf,  and  still  between 

The  fits  of  falling  snow,  appears  the  streaky  green. 

Xot  so  the  flower,  which  lasts  for  httle  space, 

A  short-lived  good,  and  an  uncertain  grace ; 

This  way  and  that  the  feeble  stem  is  driven. 

Weak  to  sustain  the  storms,  and  injuries  of  heaven. 

Propp'd  by  the  spring,  it  lifts  aloft  the  head, 

Bat  of  a  sickly  beauty,  soon  to  shed  ; 

In  summer  Hving,  and  in  winter  dead. 

For  things  of  tender  kind,  for  pleasure  made. 

Shoot  up  with  swift  increase,  and  sudden  are  decay'd. 

With  humble  words,  the  wisest  I  could  frame,  - 
And  proffered  service,  I  repaid  the  dame  ; 
Tliat,  of  her  grace,  she  gave  her  maid  to  know 
The  secret  meaning  of  this  moral  show. 
And  she,  to  prove  what  profit  I  had  made 
Of  mystic  truth,  in  fables  first  convey'd, 
Demanded,  till  the  next  returning  May, 
Whether  the  Leaf  or  Flower  I  would  obey  1 
I  chose  the  Leaf  ;  she  smiled  with  sober  cheer, 
And  wish'd  me  fair  adventure  for  the  year, 
And  gave  me  charms  and  sigils,  for  defence 
Against  ill  tongues  that  scandal  innocence : 
But  I,  said  she,  my  fellows  must  pursue, 
Already  past  the  plain,  and  out  of  view. 

We  parted  thus :  I  homeward  sped  my  way, 
Bewilder'd  in  the  wood  till  dawn  of  day : 
And  met  the  merry  crew  who  danced  about  the  May, 
Then  late  refresh'd  with  sleep,  I  rose  to  write 
The  visionary  vigils  of  the  night. — 

Blush,  as  thou  may'st,  my  little  book  with  shame ! 
Nor  hope  with  homely  verse  to  purchase  fame ; 
For  such  thy  maker  chose ;  and  so  design'd 
Thy  simple  style  to  suit  thy  lowly  kind.  • 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH, 

HER  TALE. 

In  days  of  old,  when  Arthur  fill'd  the  throne, 

Whose  acts  and  fame  to  foreign  lands  were  blown ; 

The  king  of  elfs  and  little  fairy  queen 

GamboU'd  on  heaths,  and  danced  on  every  green ; 

And  where  the  jolly  troop  had  led  the  round, 

The  grass  unbidden  rose,  and  mark'd  the  ground : 

Nor  darkling  did  they  dance,  the  silver  light 

Of  Phcebe  served  to  guide  their  steps  aright, 

And  with  their  tripping  pleased,  prolong  the  night. 

Her  beams  they  follow'd,  where  at  full  she  play'd, 

No  longer  than  she  shed  her  horns  they  staid. 

From  thence  with  airy  flight  to  foreign  lands  convey'd. 

Above  the  rest  our  Britain  held  they  dear. 

More  solemnly  they  kept  their  sabbaths  here, 

And  made  more  spacious  rings,  and  revell  d  half  the  year. 

I  speak  of  ancient  times,  for  now  the  swain 
Returning  late  may  pass  tlie  woods  in  vain, 
And  never  hope  to  see  the  nightly  train : 
In  vain  the  dairy  now  with  mints  is  dress'd, 
The  dairy-maid  expects  no  fairy  guest. 
To  skim  the  bpwls,  and  after  pay  the  feast. 
She  sighs,  and  shakes  her  empty  shoes  in  vain, 
No  silver  penny  to  reward  her  pain : 
For  priests  with  prayers,  and  other  godly  gear, 
Have  made  the  merry  goblins  disappear  ; 
And  where  they  play'd  their  merry  pranks  before, 
Have  sprinkled  holy  water  on  the  floor  : 
And  friars  that  through  the  wealthy  regions  run, 
(Thick  as  the  motes  that  twinkle  in  the  sun,) 
Resort  to  farmers  rich,  and  bless  their  halls. 
And  exorcise  the  beds,  and  cross  the  walls  : 
This  makes  the  fairy  choirs  forsalce  the  place, 
When  once  'tis  hallo w'd  with  the  rites  of  grace : 
But  in  the  walks  where  wicked  elves  have  been, 
The  learning  of  the  parish  now  is  seen. 
The  midnight  parson  posting  o'er  the  green 
With  gown  tuck'd  up  to  wakes  ;  for  Sunday  next, 
With  humming  ale  encouraging  his  text ; 
Nor  Wants  the  holy  leer  to  country-girl  betwixt. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH's  TALE.  389 

From  fiends  and  imps  he  sets  the  village  free, 
There  haunts  not  any  incubus,  but  he. 
The  maids  and  women  need  no  danger  fear 
To  walk  by  night,  and  sanctity  so  near : 
For  by  some  haycock,  or  some  shady  thorn, 
He  tells  his  beads  both  even-song  and  morn. 

It  so  befel  in  this  king  Arthur's  reign, 
A  lusty  knight  was  pricking  o'er  the  plain  ; 
A  bachelor  he  was,  and  of  the  courtly  train. 
It  happen' d  as  he  rode,  a  damsel  gay 
In  russet-robes  to  market  took  her  way: 
Soon  on  the  girl  he  cast  an  amorous  eye. 
So  straight  she  walk'd,  and  on  her  pasterns  high: 
If  seeing  her  behind  he  liked  her  pace, 
Now  turning  short,  he  better  likes  her  face. 
He  hghts  in  haste,  and,  full  of  youthful  fire, 
By  force  accomplished  his  obscene  desire : 
This  done,  away  he  rode,  not  unespied. 
For  swarming  at  his  back  the  country  cried : 
And  once  in  view  they  never  lost  the  sight 
But  seized,  and  pinion'd  brought  to  coui-t  the  knight. 

Then  courts  of  kings  were  held  in  high  renown, 
Ere  made  the  common  brothels  of  the  town : 
There,  virgins  honourable  vows  received, 
But  chaste  as  maids  in  monasteries  lived ; 
The  king  himself,  to  nuptial  ties  a  slave. 
No  bad  example  to  his  poets  gave : 
And  they,  not  bad,  but  in  a  vicious  age. 
Had  not,  to  please  the  prince,  debauched  the  stage. 

Now  what  should  Arthur  do  1     He  loved  the  knight. 
But  sovereign  monarchs  are  the  source  of  right : 
Moved  by  the  damsel's  tears  and  common  cry. 
He  doom'd  the  brutal  ravisher  to  die. 
Bat  fair  Geneura  rose  in  his  defence. 
And  pray'd  so  hard  for  mercy  from  the  prince, 
That  to  his  queen  the  king  the  offender  gave. 
And  left  it  in  her  power  to  kill  or  save . 
This  gracious  act  the  ladies  all  approve, 
Who  thought  it  much  a  man  should  die  for  love  ; 
And  with  their  mistress  join'd  in  close  debate, 
(Covering  their  kindness  with  dissembled  hate;) 
If  not  to  free  him,  to  prolong  his  fate. 
At  last  agreed,  they  call'd  him  by  consent 
Before  the  queen  and  female  parliament ; 
35 


890  THE  WIPE  OF  bath's  TALE. 

And  the  fair  speaker,  rising  from  the  chair, 
Did  thiis  the  judgment  of  the  house  declare. 

Sir  knight,  though  I  have  ask'd  thy  Hfe,  yet  still 
Thy  destiny  depends  upon  my  will : 
Nor  hast  thou  other  surety  than  the  grace 
Not  due  to  thee  from  our  offended  race. 
But  as  our  kind  is  of  a  softer  mould, 
And  cannot  blood  without  a  sigh  behold, 
I  grant  thee  hfe :  reserving  still  the  power 
To  take  the  forfeit  when  I  see  my  hour : 
Unless  thy  answer  to  my  next  demand 
Shall  set  thee  free  from  our  avenging  hand. 
The  question,  whose  solution  I  require. 
Is, — "What  the  sex  of  women  most  desire  1 — 
In  this  dispute  thy  judges  are  at  strife ; 
Beware  ;  for  on  thy  wit  depends  thy  hfe. 
Yet  (lest,  surprised,  unknowing  what  to  say, 
Thou  damn  thyself)  we  give  thee  farther  day : 
A  year  is  thine  to  wander  at  thy  will ; 
And  learn  from  others,  if  thou  want'st  the  skill. 
But,  not  to  hold  our  proffer' d  turn  in  scorn, 
Good  sureties  will  we  have  for  thy  return ; 
That  at  the  time  prefix'd  thou  shalt  obey, 
And  at  thy  pledge's  peril  keep  thy  day. 

Woe  was  the  knight  at  this  severe  command ; 
But  well  he  knew  'twas  bootless  to  withstand : 
The  terms  accepted,  as  the  fair  ordain. 
He  put  in  bail  for  his  return  again. 
And  promised  answer  at  the  day  assign' d. 
The  best,  with  Heaven's  assistance,  he  could  find. 
^     His  leave  thus  taken,  on  his  way  he  went 
With  heavy  heart,  and  full  of  discontent. 
Misdoubting  much,  and  fearful  of  the  event. 
'Twas  hard  the  truth  of  such  a  point  to  find, 
As  was  not  yet  agreed  among  the  kind. 
Thus  on  he  went ;  still  anxious  more  and  more, 
Ask'd  all  he  met,  and  knock'd  at  every  door ; 
Inquired  of  men  ;  but  made  his  chief  request 
To  learn  from  women  what  they  loved  the  best. 
They  answer'd  each  according  to  her  mind 
To  please  herself,  not  all  the  female  kind. 
One  was  for  wealth,  another  was  for  place  ; 
Crones,  old  and  ugly,  wish'd  a  better  face. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH's  TALE.  391 

The  widow's  wish  was  oftentimes  to  wed  ; 

The  wanton  maids  were  all  for  sport  a-bed. 

Some  said  the  sex  were  pleased  with  handsome  lies, 

And  some  gross  flattery  loved  without  disguise  : 

Truth  is,  says  one,  he  seldom  fails  to  win 

Who  flatters  well,  for  that 's  our  darling  sin. 

But  long  attendance,  and  a  duteous  mind, 

Will  work  even  with  the  wisest  of  the  kind. 

One  thought  the  sex's  prime  felicity 

Was  from  the  bonds  of  wedlock  to  be  free  : 

Their  pleasures,  hours,  and  actions  all  their  own, 

And  uncontroll'd  to  give  account  to  none. 

Some  with  a  husband-fool ;  but  such  are  curst, 

For  fools  perverse  of  husbands  are  the  worst : 

All  women  would  be  counted  chaste  and  wise,  ^ 

Nor  should  our  spouses  see,  but  with  our  eyes ; 

For  fools  will  prate ;  and  though  they  want  the  wit 

To  find  close  faults,  yet  open  blots  will  hit ; 

Though  better  for  their  ease  to  hold  their  tongue, 

For  \^oman-kind  was  never  in  the  wrong. 

So  noise  ensues,  and  quarrels  last  for  life  ; 

The  wife  abhors  the  fool,  the  fool  the  wife. 

And  some  men  say,  that  great  delight  have  we, 

To  be  for  truth  extoU'd,  and  secresy : 

And  constant  in  one  purpose  still  to  dwell ; 

And  not  our  husband's  counsels  to  reveal. 

But  that 's  a  fable  :  for  our  sex  is  frail, 

Inventing  rather  than  not  tell  a  tale. 

Like  leaky  sieves  no  secrets  we  can  hold : 

Witness  the  famous  tale  that  Ovid  told. 

Midas  the  king,  as  in  his  book  appears. 
By  Phoebus  was  endow'd  with  asses'  ears, 
Which  under  his  long  locks  he  well  conceal'd, 
(As  monarchs'  vices  must  not  be  reveal'd) 
For  fear  the  people  have  'em  in  the  wind, 
Who  long  ago  were  neither  dumb  nor  blind : 
Nor  apt  to  think  from  heaven  their  title  springs^ 
Since  Jove  and  Mars  left  ofi"  begetting  kings. 
This  Midas  knew  ;  and  durst  communicate 
To  none  but  to  his  wife,  his  ears  of  state  : 
One  must  be  trusted,  and  he  thought  her  fit, 
As  passing  prudent,  and  a  parlous  wit. 
To  this  sagacious  confessor  ho  went, 
And  told  her  wliat  a  gift  the  gods  had  sent : 


392  THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE. 

But  told  it  under  matrimonial  seal, 
With  strict  injunction  never  to  reveal. 
The  secret  heard,  she  plighted  him  her  troth, 
(And  sacred  sure  is  every  woman's  oath) 
The  royal  malady  should  rest  unknown. 
Both  for  her  husband's  honour  and  her  own ; 
But  ne'ertheless  she  pined  with  discontent  ; 
The  counsel  rumbled  till  it  found  a  vent. 
The  thing  she  knew  she  was  obliged  to  hide  ; 
By  interest  and  by  oath  the  wife  was  tied ; 
But,  if  she  told  it  not,  the  woman  died. 
Loth  to  betray  a  husband  and  a  prince. 
But  she  must  burst,  or  blab,  and  no  pretence 
Of  honour  tied  her  tongue  from  self-defence. 
A  marshy  ground  commodiously  was  near, 
Thither  she  ran,  and  held  her  breath  for  fear, 
Lest  if  a  word  she  spoke  of  any  thing, 
That  word  might  be  the  secret  of  the  king. 
Thus  full  of  counsel  to  the  fen  she  went, 
Griped  all  the  way,  and  longing  for  a  vent ; 
Arrived,  by  pure  necessity  compelled, 
On  her  majestic  marrow-bones  she  kneel'd : 
Then  to  the  water's  brink  she  laid  her  head, 
And,  as  a  bittern  bumps  within  a  reed, 
To  thee  alone,  0  lake,  she  said,  I  tell, 
(And,  as  thy  queen,  command  thee  to  conceal,) 
Beneath  his  locks  the  king  my  husband  wears 
A  goodly  royal  pair  of  asses'  ears  ! — 
Now  I  have  eased  my  bosom  of  the  pain, 
Till  the  next  longing  fit  return  again. 

Thus  through  a  woman  was  the  secret  known ; 
Tell  us,  and  in  effect  you  tell  the  town. 
But  to  my  tale ; — The  knight  with  heavy  cheer, 
Wand'ring  in  vain,  had  now  consumed  the  year : 
One  day  was  only  left  to  solve  the  doubt. 
Yet  knew  no  more  than  when  he  first  set  out. 
But  home  he  must,  and  as  the  award  had  been, 
Yield  up  his  body  captive  to  the  queen. 
In  this  despairing  state  he  happ'd  to  ride^ 
As  fortune  led  him,  by  a  forest  side  : 
*  Lonely  the  vale,  and  full  of  horror  stood. 
Brown  with  the  shade  of  a«religious  wood : 
When  full  before  him  at  the  noon  of  night, 
(The  moon  was  up,  and  shot  a  gleamy  fight) 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH's  TALE. 

He  saw  a  choir  of  ladies  in  a  round 
That  featly  footing  seem'd  to  skim  the  ground : 
Thus  dancing  hand  in  hand,  so  hght  they  were, 
He  knew  not  where  they  trod,  on  earth  or  air. 
At  speed  he  drove,  and  came  a  sudden  guest, 
In  hope  where  many  women  were,  at  least 
Some  one  by  chance  might  answer  his  request. 
But  faster  than  his  horse  the  ladies  flew, 
And  in  a  trice  were  vanish'd  out  of  view. 

One  only  hag  remain'd  ;  but  fouler  far 
Than  grandame  apes  in  Indian  forests  are  ; 
Against  a  wither'd  oak  she  lean'd  her  weight, 
Propp'd  on  her  .trusty  staff,  not  half  upright. 
And  dropp'd  an  awkward  court 'sy  to  the  knight. 
Then  said,  What  makes  you,  Sir,  so  late  abroad 
Without  a  guide,  and  this  no  beaten  road  If 
Or  want  you  aught  that  here  you  hope  to  find, 
Or  travel  for  some  trouble  in  your  mind  ? 
The  last  I  guess  ;  and  if  I  read  aright. 
Those  of  our  sex  are  bound  to  serve  a  knight ; 
Perhaps  good  counsel  may  your  grief  assuage, 
Then  tell  your  pain  ;  for  wisdom  is  in  age. 

To  this  the  knight :  Good  mother,  would  you  know 
The  secret  cause  and  spring  of  all  my  woe  ? 
My  life  must  with  to-morrow's  light  expire. 
Unless  I  tell  what  women  most  desire. 
Now  could  you  help  me  at  this  hard  essay, 
Or  for  your  inborn  goodness,  or  for  pay  ; 
Yours  is  my  life,  redeem'd  by  your  advice, 
Ask  what  you  please,  and  I  will  pay  the  price : 
The  proudest  kerchief  of  the  court  shall  rest 
Well  satisfied  of  what  they  love  the  best. 
Plight  me  thy  faith,  quoth  she,  that  what  I  ask, 
Thy  danger  over,  and  perform'd  thy  task. 
That  thou  shalt  give  for  hire  of  thy  demand ; 
Here  take  thy  oath,  and  seal  it  on  my  h^-nd ; 
I  warrant  thee,  on  peril  of  my  life, 
Thy  words  shaU  please  both  widow,  maid,  and  wife. 

More  words  there  needed  not  to  move  the  knight, 
To  take  her  ofier,  and  his  truth  to  plight. 
With  that  she  spread  a  mantle  on  the  ground, 
And,  first  inquiring  whither  he  was  bound. 
Bade  him  not  fear,  though  long  and  rough  the  waj, 
At  court  he  should  arrive  ere  break  of  day ; 
36* 


394  THE  WIPE  OF  bath's  TALE. 

His  horse  should  find  the  way  without  a  guide. 
She  said :  with  fury  they  began  to  ride, 
He  on  the  midst,  the  beldam  at  his  side. 
The  horse,  what  devil  drove  I  cannot  tell, 
But  only  this,  they  sped  their  journey  well : 
And  all  the  way  the  crone  informed  the  knight, 
How  he  should  answer  the  demand  aright. 

To  court  they  came ;  the  news  was  quickly  spread 
Of  his  returning  to  redeem  his  head. 
The  female  senate  was  assembled  soon, 
With  all  the  mob  of  women  in  the  town : 
The  queen  sat  lord  chief  justice  of  the  hall, 
And  bade  the  crier  cite  the  criminal. 
The  knight  appear'd ;  and  silence  they  proclaim : 
Then  first  the  culprit  answer'd  to  his  name : 
And,  after  forms  of  law,  was  last  required 
To  name  the  thing  that  women  most  desired. 

The  ofiender,  taught  his  lesson  by  the  way. 
And  by  his  counsel  order'd  what  to  say, 
Thus  bold  began :  My  lady  liege,  said  he, 
What  all  your  sex  desire  is.  Sovereignty ! 
The  wife  affects  her  husband  to  command ; 
All  must  be  hers,  both  money,  house,  and  land. 
The  maids  are  mistresses  even  in  their  name ; 
And  of  their  servants  full  dominion  claim. 
This,  at  the  peril  of  my  head,  I  say, 
A  blunt  plain  truth,  the  sex  aspires  to  sway, ' 
You  to  rule  all,  while  we,  like  slaves,  obey. 
There  was  not  one,  or  widow,  maid  or  wife, 
But  said  the  knight  had  well  deserved  his  life. 
Even  fair  Geneura,  with  a  blush,  confess'd 
The  man  had  found  what  women  love  the  best. 

Up  starts  the  beldam,  who  was  there  unseen. 
And,  reverence  made,  accosted  thus  the  queen : 
My  liege,  said  she,  before  the  court  arise. 
May  I,  poor  wretch,  find  favour  in  your  eyes. 
To  grant  my  just  request :  'twas  I  who  taught 
The  knight  this  answer,  and  inspired  his  thought ; 
None  but  a  woman  could  a  man  direct 
To  tell  us  women,  what  we  most  affect. 
But  first  I  swore  him  on  his  knightly  troth 
(And  here  demand  performance  of  his  oath). 
To  grant  the  boon  that  next  I  should  desire ; 
He  gave  his  faith,  and  I  expect  my  hire : 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE.  395 

My  promise  is  fulfill'd  :  I  saved  his  life, 
And  claim  his  debt,  to  take  me  for  his  wife. 
The  knight  was  ask'd,  nor  could  his  oath  deny, 
But  hoped  they  would  not  force  him  to  comply. 
The  women,  who  would  rather  wrest  the  laws, 
Than  let  a  sister-plaintiff  lose  the  cause, 
(As  judges  on  the  bench  more  gracious  are, 
And  more  attent  to  brothers  of  the  bar) 
Cried,  one  and  all,  the  suppliant  should  have  right, 
And  to  the  grandame-hag  adjudged  the  knight. 

In  vain  he  sigh'd,  and  oft  with  tears  desired, 
Some  reasonable  suit  might  be  required. 
But  still  the  crone  was  constant  to  her  note  ; 
The  more  he  spoke,  the  more  she  stretch'd  her  throat. 
In  vain  he  proffer 'd  aU  his  goods,  to  save 
His  body  destined  to  that  living  grave. 
The  liquorish  hag  rejects  the  pelf  with  scorn  ; 
And  nothing  but  the  man  would  serve  her  turn. 
Not  all  the  wealth  of  eastern  kings,  said  she, 
Have  power  to  part  my  phghted  love,  and  me ; 
And,  old  and  ugly  as  I  am,  and  poor, 
Yet  never  will  I  break  the  faith  I  swore  ; 
For  mine  thou  art  by  promise,  during  life. 
And  I  thy  loving  and  obedient  wife. 

My  love !  nay  rather  my  damnation  thou. 
Said  he  :  nor  am  I  bound  to  keep  my  vow  ; 
The  fiend  thy  sire  hath  sent  thee  from  below. 
Else,  how  couldst  thou  my  secret  sorrows  know  ? 
Avaunt,  old  witch,  for  I  renounce  thy  bed  : 
The  queen  may  take  the  forfeit  of  my  head. 
Ere  any  of  my  race  so  foul  a  crone  shall  wed. 
Both  heard,  the  judge  pronounced  against  the  knight ; 
So  was  he  married  in  his  own  despite  : 
And  all  day  after  hid  h*m  as  an  owl. 
Not  able  to  sustain  a  sight  so  foul. 
Perhaps  the  reader  thinks  I  do  him  wrong, 
To  pass  the  marriage  feast,  and  nuptial  song ; 
Mirth  there  was  none,  the  man  was  a-la-mort, 
And  little  courage  had  to  make  his  court. 
To  bed  they  went,  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride : 
Was  never  such  an  ill-pair*d  couple  tied : 
Bestless  he  toss'd,  and  tumbled  to  and  fro. 
And  roll'd,  and  wriggled  further  off,  for  woe. 


396  THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TALE. 

The  good  old  wife  lay  smiling  by  his  side, 
And  caught  him  in  her  quivering  arms,  and  cried, 
When  you  my  ravish'd  predecessor  saw, 
You  were  not  then  become  this  man  of  straw  ; 
Had  you  been  such,  you  might  have  'scaped  the  law. 
Is  this  the  custom  of  King  Arthur's  court  1 
Are  all  round-table  knights  of  such  a  sort  1 
Kemember  I  am  she  who  saved  your  life, 
Your  loving,  lawful,  and  complying  wife  : 
Not  thus  you  swore  in  your  unhappy  hour, 
Nor  I  for  this  return  employ'd  my  power. 
In  time  of  need  I  was  your  faithful  friend  ; 
Nor  did  I  since,  nor  ever  will  offend. 
BeUeve  me,  my  loved  lord,  'tis  much  unkind  ; 
What  fury  has  possess'd  your  alter'd  mind  1 
Thus  on  my  wedding  night — without  pretence- 
Come,  turn  this  way,  or  tell  me  my  offence. 
If  not  your  wife,  let  reason's  rule  persuade  ; 
Name  but  my  ^fault,  amends  shall  soon  be  made. 

Amends !  nay,  that 's  impossible,  said  he, 
What  change  of  age  or  ugliness  can  be  ? 
Or  could  Medea's  magic  mend  thy  face. 
Thou  art  descended  from  so  mean  a  race. 
That  never  knight  was  match'd  with  such  disgrace. 
What  wonder,  madam,  if  I  move  my  side, 
When,  if  I  turn,  I  turn  to  such  a  bride  ? 
And  is  this  all  that  troubles  you  so  sore  ] 
And  what  the  devil  couldst  thou  wish  me  more  ? 
Ah,  Benedicite  !  replied  the  crone  : 
Then  cause  of  just  complaining  have  you  none. 
The  remedy  to  this  were  soon  applied. 
Would  you  be  like  the  bridegroom  to  the  bride ; 
But,  for  you  say  a  long-descended  race. 
And  wealth,  and  dignity,  and  power,  and  place, 
Make  gentlemen,  and  that  your  high  degree 
Is  much  disparaged  to  be  match'd  with  me  ; 
Know  this,  my  lord,  nobility  of  blood 
Is  but  a  glittering  and  fallacious  good : 
The  nobleman  is  he,  whose  noble  mind 
Is  fill'd  with  inborn  worth,  unborrow'd  from  his  kind. 
The  King  of  Heaven  was  in  a  manger  laid. 
And  took  his  earth  but  from  an  humble  Maid ; 
Tlien  what  can  birth,  or  mortal  men,  bestow  ? 
Since  floods  no  higher  than  their  fountains  flow. 


THE  WIFE  OP  bath's  TALE.  397 

We,  who  for  name  and  empty  honour  strive, 

Our  true  nobility  from  him  derive. 

Your  ancestors,  who  pufF  your  mind  with  pride, 

And  vast  estates  to  mighty  titles  tied. 

Did  not  your  honour,  but  their  own  advance ; 

For  virtue  comes  not  by  inheritance. 

If  you  tralineate  from  your  father's  mind, 

What  are  you  else  but  of  a  bastard  kind  ? 

Do  as  your  great  progenitors  have  done. 

And,  by  their  virtues,  prove  yourself  their  son. 

No  father  can  infuse  or  wit  or  grace  ; 

A  mother  comes  across,  and  mars  the  race : 

A  grandsire  or  a  grandame  taints  the  blood, 
,  And  seldom  three  descents  continue  good. 

Were  virtue  by  descent,  a  noble  name 

Could  never  villanise  his  father's  fame  : 

But,  as  the  first,  the  last  of  all  the  line, 

Would,  like  the  sun,  even  in  descending,  shine. 

Take  fire,  and  bear  it  to  the  darkest  house 

Betwixt  King  Arthur's  court  and  Caucasus ; 

If  you  depart,  the  flame  shaU  still  remain. 

And  the  bright  blaze  enUghten  all  the  plain : 

Nor,  till  the  fuel  perish,  can  decay, 

By  nature  form'd  on  things  combustible  to  prey. 

Such  is  not  man,  who,  mixing  better  seed 

With  worse,  begets  a  base  degenerate  breed  : 

The  bad  corrupts  the  good,  and  leaves  behind 

No  trace  of  all  the  great  begetter's  mind. 

The  father  sinks  within  his  son,  we  see, 

And  often  rises  in  the  third  degree  ; 

If  better  luck  a  better  mother  give. 

Chance  gave  us  being,  and  by  chance  we  live. 

Such  as  our  atoms  were,  even  such  are  we, 

Or  call  it  chance,  or  strong  necessity: 

Thus  loaded  with  dead  weight,  the  will  is  free. 

And  thus  it  needs  must  be  :  for  seed  conjoin'd 

Lets  into  nature's  work  the  imperfect  kind : 

But  fire,  the  enlivener  of  the  general  frame, 

Is  one,  its  operation  still  the  same. 

Its  principle  is  in  itself :  while  ours 

Works,  as  confederates  war,  with  mingled  powers; 

Or  man  or  woman,  whichsoever  fails  : 
•  And,  oft,  the  vigour  of  the  worst  prevails 


398  THE  WIFE  OF  BATH'S  TAEB. 

Mther  with  sulphur  blended  alters  hue, 

And  casts  a  dusky  gleam  of  Sodom  blue. 

Thus,  in  a  brute,  their  ancient  honour  ends, 

And  the  fair  mermaid  in  a  fish  descends  : 

The  hne  is  gone — no  longer  duke  or  earl ; 

But,  by  himself  degraded,  turns  a  churl. 

Nobility  of  blood  is  but  renown 

Of  thy  great  fathers  by  their  virtue  known, 

And  a  long  trail  of  light,  to  thee  descending  down : 

If  in  thy  smoke  it  ends,  their  glories  shine  ; 

But  infamy  and  viUanage  are  thine. 

Then  what  I  said  before  is  plainly  show'd. 

The  true  nobihty  proceeds  from  God : 

Nor  left  us  by  inheritance,  but  given 

By  bounty  of  our  stars,  and  grace  of  Heaven. 

Thus  from  a  captive  Servius  Tullius  rose, 

Whom  for  his  virtues  the  first  Romans  chose : 

Fabricius  from  their  walls  repell'd  the  foe. 

Whose  noble  hands  had  exercised  the  plough. 

From  hence,  my  lord,  and  love,  I  thus  conclude, 

That  though  my  homely  ancestors  were  rude, 

Mean  as  I  am,  yet  I  may  have  the  grace 

To  make  you  father  of  a  generous  race  : 

And  noble  then  am  I,  when  I  begin, 

In  virtue  clothed,  to  cast  the  rags  of  sin. 

If  poverty  be  my  upbraided  crime. 

And  you  believe  in  Heaven,  there  was  a  time 

When  He,  the  great  controller  of  our  fate, 

Deign'd  to  be  man,  and  lived  in  low  estate ; 

Which  He  who  had  the  world  at  his  dispose, 

If  poverty  were  vice,  had  never  chose. 

Philosophers  have  said,  and  poets  sing. 

That  a  glad  poverty's  an  honest  thing. 

Content  is  wealth,  the  riches  of  the  mind  ; 

And  happy  he  who  can  that  treasure  find. 

But  the  base  miser  starves  amidst  his  store, 

Broods  on  his  gold,  and,  griping  stiU  at  more, 

Sits  sadly  pining,  and  believes  he 's  poor. 

The  ragged  beggar,  though  he  want  rehef, 

Has  not  to  lose,  and  sings  before  the  thiei. 

Want  is  a  bitter  and  a  hateful  good. 

Because  its  virtues  are  not  understood : 

Yet  many  things,  impossible  to  thought, 

Have  been  by  need  to  fiill  perfection  brought : 


THE  WIFE  OP  BATH'S  TALE.  3 

The  daring  of  the  soul  proceeds  from  thence, 

Sharpness  of  wit,  and  active  diligence  ; 

Prudence  at  once,  and  fortitude,  it  gives, 

And,  if  in  patience  taken,  mends  our  lives ; 

For  even  that  indigence,  that  brings  me  low, 

Makes  me  myself,  and  Him  above,  to  know  ; 

A  good  which  none  would  challenge,  few  would  choose, 

A  fair  possession,  which  mankind  refuse. 

If  we  from  wealth  to  poverty  descend 
Want  gives  to  know  the  flatterer  from  the  friend. 
If  I  am  old  and  ugly,  well  for  you. 
No  lewd  adulterer  will  my  love  pursue ; 
Nor  jealousy,  the  bane  of  married  life. 
Shall  haunt  you  for  a  wither'd  homely  wife : 
For  age  and  ughness,  as  all  agree. 
Are  the  best  guards  of  female  chastity. 

Yet  since  I  see  your  mind  is  worldly  bent, 
I  '11  do  my  best  to  further  your  content. 
And  therefore  of  two  gifts  in  my  dispose. 
Think  ere  you  speak,  I  grant  you  leave  to  choose : — 
Would  you  I  should  be  still  deform'd  and  old, 
Nauseous  to  touch,  and  loathsome  to  behold  j 
On  this  condition,  to  remain  for  hfe, 
A  careful,  tender,  and  obedient  wife. 
In  all  I  can  contribute  to  your  ease, 
And  not  in  deed,  or  word,  or  thought  displease  I 
Or  would  you  rather  have  me  young  and  fair, 
And  take  the  chance  that  happens  to  your  share  ? 
Temptations  are  in  beauty  and  in  youth. 
And  how  can  you  depend  upon  my  truth  1 
Now  weigh  the  danger  with  the  doubtful  bliss. 
And  thank  yourself,  if  aught  should  fall  amiss. 

Sore  sigh'd  the  knight,  who  this  long  sermon  heard : 
At  length  considering  all,  his  heart  he  cheer'd ; 
And  thus  rephed  :  My  lady,  and  my  wife. 
To  your  wise  conduct  I  resign  my  Hfe  ; 
Choose  you  for  me,  for  well  you  imderstand 
The  future  good  and  ill,  on  either  hand : 
But  if  an  humble  husband  may  request. 
Provide,  and  order  all  things  for  the  best ; 
Yours  be  the  care  to  profit,  and  to  please : 
And  let  your  subject  servant  take  his  ease. 

Then  thus  in  peace,  quoth  she,  concludes  the  strife^ 
Since  I  am  tum'd  the  husband,  you  the  wife : 


400  THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON. 

The  matrimonial  victory  is  mine, 
Which,  having  fairly  gain'd,  I  will  resign. 
Forgive  if  I  have  said  or  done  amiss, 
And  seal  the  bargain  with  a  friendly  kiss : 
I  promised  you  but  one  content  to  share. 
But  now  I  will  become  both  good  and  fair. 
No  nuptial  quarrel  shall  disturb  your  ease  ; 
The  business  of  my  life  shall  be  to  please : 
And  for  my  beauty,  that,  as  time  shall  try, 
But  draw  the  curtain  first,  and  cast  your  eye. 

He  look'd,  and  saw  a  creature  heavenly  fair, 
In  bloom  of  youth,  and  of  a  charming  air. 
With  joy  he  turn'd,  and  seized  her  ivory  arm  ; 
And,  like  Pygmalion,  found  the  statue  warm. 
Small  arguments  there  needed  to  prevail, 
A  storm  of  kisses  pour'd  as  thick  as  hail. 
Thus  long  in  mutual  bliss  they  lay  embraced, 
And  their  first  love  continued  to  the  last : 
One  sunshine  was  their  life,  no  cloud  between  ; 
Nor  ever  was  a  kinder  couple  seen. 

And  so  may  all  our  lives  like  theirs  be  led  ; 
Heaven  send  the  maids  young  husbands  jfresh  in  bed ; 
May  widows  wed  as  often  as  they  can, 
And  ever  for  the  better  change  their  man. 
And  some  devouring  plague  pursue  their  lives, 
Who  will  not  well  be  govern'd  by  their  wives. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON. 

A  PARISH  priest  was  of  the  pilgrim  train  ; 
An  awful,  reverend,  and  religious  man, 
His  eyes  diffused  a  venerable  grace, 
And  charity  itself  was  in  his  face. 
Rich  was  his  soul,  though  his  attire  was  poor ; 
(As  God  had  clothed  his  own  ambassador  ;) 
For  such,  on  earth,  his  bless'd  Redeemer  bore. 
Of  sixty  years  he  seem'd  ;  and  well  might  last 
'To  sixty  more,  but  that  he  lived  too  fast ; 
Refined  bimself  to  soul,  to  curb  the  sense ; 
And  made  almost  a  sin  of  abstinence. 
Yet,  had  his  aspect  nothing  of  severe. 
But  such  a  face  as  promised  him  sincere. 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  A  GOOD  PARSON.        401 

Nothing  reserved  or  sullen  was  to  see :  / 

But  sweet  regards  ;  and  pleasing  sanctity  :    ^ 

Mild  was  his  accent,  and  his  action  free. 

With  eloquence  innate  his  tongue  was  arm'd  ; 

Though  harsh  the  precept,  yet  the  preacher  charm'd. 

For  letting  down  the  golden  chain  from  high, 

He  drew  his  audience  upward  to  the  sky  ; 

And  oft,  with  holy  hymns,  he  charm'd  their  (iars : 

(A  music  more  melodious  than  the  spheres  :) 

For  David  left  him,  when  he  went  to  rest. 

His  lyre  ;  and  after  him  he  sung  the  best. 

He  bore  his  great  commission  in  his  look  : 

But  sweetly  tempered  awe  ;  and  soften'd  all  he  spoke. 

He  preach'd  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  pains  of  hell ; 

And  warn'd  the  sinner  with  becoming  zeal ; 

But  on  eternal  mercy  loved  to  dwell. 

He  taught  the  gospel  rather  than  the  law  ; 

And  forced  himself  to  drive  ;  but  loved  to  draw. 

For  fear  but  freezes  minds  ;  though  love,  like  heat,   1 

Exhales  the  soul  subhme,  to  seek  her  native  seat.      1 

To  threats  the  stubborn  sinner  oft  is  hard  ;  ' 

Wrapp'd  in  his  crimes,  against  the  storm  prepared ; 
But,  when  the  milder  beams  of  mercy  play. 
He  melts,  and  throws  his  cumbrous  cloak  away. 
Lightning  and  thunder  (heaven's  artillery) 
As  haj^bingers  before  the  Almighty  fly : 
Those  but  proclaim  his  style,  and  disappear  ; 
The  stiller  sound  succeeds,  and  God  is  there ! 

The  tithes,  his  parish  freely  paid,  he  took  ;     • 
But  never  sued,  or  cursed  with  bell  and  book. 
With  patience  bearing  wrong  ;  but  ofiering  none ; 
Since  every  man  is  free  to  lose  his  own. 
The  country  churls,  according  to  their  kind, 
(Who  grudge  their  dues,  and  love  to  be  behind,)     -^ 
The  less  he  sought  his  offerings,  pinch'd  the  more,  / 
And  praised  a  priest  contented  to  be  poor.  ) 

Yet  of  his  little  he  had  some  to  spare, 
To  feed  the  famish'd,  and  to  clothe  the  bare : 
For  mortified  he  was  to  that  degree, 
A  poorer  than  himself  he  would  not  see. 
True  priests,  he  said,  and  preachers  of  the  word, 
Were  only  stewards  of  their  sovereign  Lord ; 
Nothing  was  theirs  ;  but  all  the  public  sboro : 
Intrusted  riches,  to  relieve  the  poor. 
36 


402  THE  CHARACTER  OP  A  GOOD  PARSON. 

Who,  should  they  steal,  for  want  of  his  relie:^ 
He  judged  himself  accomplice  with  the  thief. 

Wide  was  his  parish  ;  not  contracted  close 
In  streets,  but  here  and  there  a  straggling  house ; 
Yet  still  he  was  at  hand,  without  request, 
To  serve  the  sick,  to  succour  the  distress'd  ; 
Tempting,  on  foot,  alone,  without  affright, 
The  dangers  of  a  dark  tempestuous  night. 

All  this  the  good  old  man  perform'd  alone, 
Nor  spared  his  pains ;  for  curate  he  had  none. 
Nor  durst  he  trust  another  with  his  care  ; 
Nor  rode  himself  to  Paul's,  the  public  fair, 
To  chaffer  for  preferment  with  his  gold. 
Where  bishoprics  and  sinecures  are  sold. 
But  duly  watch'd  his  flock  by  night  and  day, 
And  from  the  prowling  wolf  redeemed  the  prey, 
And  hungry  sent  the  wily  fox  away. 

The  proud  he  tamed,  the  penitent  he  cheer'd ; 
Nor  to  rebuke  the  rich  offender  fear'd. 
His  preaching  much,  but  more  his  practice  wrought ; 
(A  Hving  sermon  of  the  truths  he  taught ;) 
For  this  by  rules  severe  his  life  he  squared  : 
That  all  might  see  the  doctrine  which  they  heard. 
For  priests,  he  said,  are  patterns  for  the  rest : 
(The  gold  of  heaven,  who  bear  the  God  impress'd :) 
But  when  the  precious  coin  is  kept  unclean, 
The  sovereign's  image  is  no  longer  seen. 
If  they  be  foul  on  whom  the  people  trust, 
Well  may  the  baser  brass  contract  a  rust. 

The  prelate,  for  his  holy  life  he  prized ; 
The  worldly  pomp  of  prelacy  despised. 
His  Saviour  came  not  with  a  gaudy  show ; 
Nor  was  his  kingdom  of  the  world  below. 
Patience  in  want,  and  poverty  of  mind. 
These  marks  c;f  Church  and  Churchmen  he  design'd, 
And  living  taught,  and  dying  left  behind. 
The  crown  he  wore  was  of  the  pointed  thorn : 
In  purple  he  was  crucified,  not  born. 
They  who  contend  for  place  and  high  degree, 
Are  not  his  sons,  but  those  of  Zebedee. 

Not  but  he  knew  the  signs  of  earthly  power 
Might  well  become  Saint  Peter's  successor ; 
The  holy  father  holds  a  double  reign. 
The  prince  may  keep  his  pomp,  the  fisher  must  be  plairu 


THE  CHARACTER  OP  A  GOOD  PARSON.        403 

Such  was  the  saint ;  who  shone  with  every  grace, 
Reflecting,  Moses-like,  his  Maker's  face. 
God  saw  his  image  lively  was  express'd  ; 
And  his  own  work,  as  in  creation,  bless'd. 

The  tempter  saw  him  too  with  envious  eye  ; 
And,  as  on  Job,  demanded  leave  to  try. 
He  took  the  time  when  Richard  was  deposed, 
And  high  and  low  with  happy  Harry  closed. 
This  prince,  though  great  in  arms,  the  priest  withstood ; 
Near  though  he  was,  yet  not  the  next  of  blood. 
Had  Richard,  unconstrain'd,  resign'd  the  throne, 
A  king  can  give  no  more  than  is  his  own  ; 
The  title  stood  entail'd,  had  Richard  had  a  son. 

Conquest,  an  odious  name,  was  laid  aside. 
Where  all  submitted,  none  the  battle  triedT 
The  senseless  plea  of  right  by  providence 
Was,  by  a  flattering  priest,  invented  since  ; 
And  lasts  no  longer  than  the  present  sway ; 
But  justifies  the  next  who  comes  in  play. 

The  people's  right  remains  ;  let  those  who  dare       (^ 
Dispute  their  power,  when  they  the  judges  are.  j 

He  join'd  not  in  their  choice,  because  he  knew 
Worse  might,  and  often  did,  from  change  ensue. 
Much  to  himself  he  thought ;  but  Httle  spoke  ; 
And,  undeprived,  his  benefice  forsook. 

Now,  through  the  land,  his  cure  of  souls  he  stretch'd  ; 
And  like  a  primitive  apostle  preach'd. 
Still  cheerful,  ever  constant  to  his  call. 
By  many  follow'd,  loved  by  most,  admired  by  all. 
With  what  he  begg'd,  his  brethren  he  reheved. 
And  gave  the  charities  himself  received. 
Gave  while  he  taught,  and  edified  the  more. 
Because  he  show'd  by  proof,  'twas  easy  to  be  poor. 

He  went  not  with  the  crowd  to  see  a  shrine  ; 
But  fed  us,  by  the  way,  with  food  divine. 

In  deference  to  his  virtues,  I  forbear 
To  show  you  what  the  rest  in  orders  were : 
This  brilliant  is  so  spotless  and  so  bright,  > 

He  needs  no  foil,  but  shines  by  his  own  proper  ligbt  S 


404 


TEANSLATIONS  FROM  BOCCACCIO. 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCAEDO. 

While  Norman  Tancred  in  Salerno  reign'd, 
The  title  of  a  gracious  prince  he  gain'd  ; 
Till  turn'd  a  tyrant  in  his  latter  days, 
He  lost  the  lustre  of  his  former  praise  ; 
And,  from  the  bright  meridian  where  he  stood 
Descending,  dypp'd  his  hands  in  lovers'  blood. 

This  prince,  of  fortune's  favour  long  possess'd, 
Yet  was  with  one  fair  daughter  only  bless'd  ; 
And  bless'd  he  might  have  been  with  her  alone : 
But  oh  !  how  much  more  happy,  had  he  none  ! 
She  was  his  care,  his  hope,  and  his  delight. 
Most  in  his  thou'ght,  and  ever  in  his  sight : 
Next,  nay  beyond  his  life,  he  held  her  dear  ; 
She  lived  by  him,  and  now  he  lived  in  her. 
For  this,  when  ripe  for  marriage,  he  delay'd 
Her  nuptial  bands,  and  kept  her  long  a  maid, 
As  envying  any  else  should  share  a  part 
Of  what  was  his,  and  claiming  aU  her  heart. 
At  length,  as  public  decency  required, 
And  all  his  vassals  eagerly  desired. 
With  mind  averse,  he  rather  underwent 
His  people's  will,  than  gave  his  own  consent. 
So  was  she  torn,  as  from  a  lover's  side, 
And  made,  almost  in  his  despite,  a  bride. 

Short  were  her  marriage  joys  ;  for,  in  the  prime 
Of  youth,  her  lord  expired  before  his  time  : 
And  to  her  father's  court  in  Httle  space 
Kestored  anew,  she  held  a  higher  place  ; 
More  loved,  and  more  exalted  into  grace. 
This  princess,  fresh  and  young,  and  fair  and  wise, 
The  worshipp'd  idol  of  her  father's  eyes. 
Did  all  her  sex  in  every  grace  exceed. 
And  had  more  wit  beside  than  women  need. 

Youth,  health,  and  ease,  and  most  an  amorous  mindy 
To  second  nuptials  had  her  thoughts  inclined  : 
And  former  joys  had  left  a  secret  sting  behind. 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  4C 

But,  prodigal  in  every  other  grant, 

Her  sire  left  unsupplied  her  only  want ; 

And  she,  betwixt  her  modesty  and  pride, 

Her  wishes,  which  she  could  not  help,  would  hide. 

Resolved  at  last  to  lose  no  longer  time, 
And  yet  to  please  herself  without  a  crime, 
She  cast  her  eyes  around  the  court,  to  find 
A  worthy  subject  suiting  to  her  raind, 
To  him  in  holy  nuptials  to  be  tied, 
A  seeming  widow,  and  a  secret  bride. 
Among  the  train  of  courtiers,  one  she  found 
With  all  the  gifts  of  bounteous  nature  crown'd, 
Of  gentle  blood  ;  but  one  whose  niggard  fate 
Had  set  him  far  below  her  high  estate  ; 
Guiscard  his  name  was  call'd,  of  blooming  age, 
Now  squire  to  Tancred,  and  before,  his  page  : 
To  him,  the  choice  of  all  the  shining  crowd, 
Her  heart  the  noble  Sigismonda  vow'd. 

Yet  hitherto  she  kept  her  love  conceal'd, 
And  with  those  graces  every  day  beheld 
The  graceful  youth  ;  and  every  day  increased 
The  raging  fires  that  burn'd  within  her  breast ;    , 
Some  secret  charm  did  all  his  acts  attend, 
A  nd  what  his  fortune  wanted,  hers  could  mend ; 
Till,  as  the  fire  will  force  its  outward  way. 
Or,  in  the  prison  pent,  consume  the  prey ; 
So  long  her  earnest  eyes  on  his  were  set, 
At  length  their  twisted  rays  together  met ; 
And  he,  surprised  with  humble  joy,  survey'd 
One  sweet  regard,  shot  by  the  royal  maid : 
Not  well  assured,  while  doubtful  hopes  he  nursed, 
A  second  glance  came  gliding  like  the  first ; 
And  he,  who  saw  the  sharpness  of  the  dart, 
Without  defence  received  it  in  his  heart. 
In  public,  though  their  passion  wanted  speech. 
Yet  mutual  looks  interpreted  for  each  ; 
Time,  ways,  and  means  of  meeting  were  denied  ; 
But  all  those  wants  ingenious  love  suppUed. 
The  inventive  god,  who  never  fails  his  part. 
Inspires  the  wit,  when  once  he  warms  the  heart. 

When  Guiscard  next  was  in  the  circle  seen, 
Where  Sigismonda  held  the  place  of  queen, 
A  hollow  cane  within  her  hand  she  brought. 
But  in  the  concave  had  enclosed  a  note  ; 
36* 


406  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 

With  this  she  seem'd  to  play,  and,  as  in  sport, 
Toss'd  to  her  love,  in  presence  of  the  court ; 
Take  it,  she  said  ;  and  when  your  needs  require, 
This  little  brand  will  serve  to  light  your  fire. 
He  took  it  with  a  bow,  and  soon  divined 
The  seeming  toy  was  not  for  nought  design'd  : 
But  when  retired,  so  long  with  curious  eyes 
He  view'd  his  present,  that  he  found  the  prize. 
Jd^uch  was  in  httle  writ ;  and  all  convey'd 
With  cautious  care,  for  fear  to  be  betray'd 
By  some  false  confident,  or  favourite  maid. 
The  time,  the  place,  the  manner  how  to  meet, 
Were  all  in  punctual  order  plainly  set : 
But  since  a  trust  must  be,  she  thought  it  best 
To  put  it  out  of  laymen's  power  at  least ; 
And  for  their  solemn  vows  prepared  a  priest. 

Guiscard  (her  secret  purpose  understood) 
With  joy  prepared  to  meet  the  coming  good  ; 
Nor  pains  nor  danger  was  resolved  to  spare, 
But  use  the  means  appointed  by  the  fair. 

Next  the  proud  palace  of  Salerno  stood 
A  mount  of  rough  ascent,  and  thick  with  wood. 
Through  this  a  cave  was  dug  with  vast  expense : 
The  work  it  seem'd  of  some  suspicious  prince, 
Who,  when  abusing  power  with  lawless  might, 
From  public  justice  would  secure  his  flight. 
The  passage  made  by  many  a  winding  way, 
Beach'd  ev'n  the  room  in  which  the  tyrant  lay. 
Mt  for  his  purpose,  on  a  lower  floor 
He  lodged,  whose  issue  was  an  iron  door 
From  whence,  by  stairs  descending  to  the  ground. 
In  the  blind  grot  a  safe  retreat  he  found. 
Its  outlet  ended  in  a  brake  o'ergrown 
With  brambles,  choked  by  time,  and  now  unknown. 
A  rift  there  was,  which  from  the  mountain's  height 
Convey'd  a  gUmmering  and  malignant  light, 
A  breathing-place  to  draw  the  damps  away, 
A  twilight  of  an  intercepted  day. 
The  tyrant's  den,  whose  use,  though  lost  to  fame, 
Was  now  the  apartment  of  the  royal  dame  ; 
The  cavern  only  to  her  father  known, 
By  him  was  to  his  darling  daughter  shown. 

Neglected  long  she  let  the  secret  rest. 
Till  love  recall'd  it  to  her  labouring  breast, 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  407 

And  hinted  as  the  way  by  heaven  designed 
The  teacher,  by  the  means  he  taught,  to  blind. 
What  will  not  women  do,  when  need  inspires 
Their  wit,  or  love  their  inclination  lires  ! 
Though  jealousy  of  state  the  invention  found, 
Yet  love  refined  upon  the  former  ground. 
That  way,  the  tyrant  had  resei-ved,  to  fly 
Pursuing  hate,  now  served  to  bring  two  lovers  nigh. 

The  dame,  who  long  in  vain  had  kept  the  key. 
Bold  by  desire,  explored  the  secret  way  ; 
Now  tried  the  stairs,  and,  wading  through  the  night. 
Searched  all  the  deep  recess,  and  issued  into  light. 
All  this  her  letter  had  so  well  explain' d. 
The  instructed  youth  might  compass  what  remain'd ; 
The  cavern-mouth  alone  was  hard  to  find, 
Because  the  path,  disused,  was  out  of  mind : 
But  in  what  quarter  of  the  copse  it  lay. 
His  eye  by  certain  level  could  survey: 
Yet  (for  the  wood  perplex 'd  with  thorns  he  knew^) 
A  frock  of  leather  o'er  his  limbs  he  drew ; 
And  thus  provided,  search' d  the  brake  around. 
Till  the  choked  entry  of  the  cave  he  found. 

Thus,  all  prepared,  the  promised  hour*  arrived. 
So  long  expected,  and  so  well  contrived  : 
With  love  to  friend,  the  impatient  lover  went, 
Fenced  from  the  thorns,  and  trod  the  deep  descent. 
The  conscious  priest,  who  was  suborn'd  before, 
Stood  ready  posted  at  the  postern  door ; 
The  maids  in  distant  rooms  were  sent  to  rest ; 
And  nothing  wanted  but  the  invited  guest. 
He  came,  and  knocking  thrice  without  delay, 
The  longing  lady  heard,  and  tum'd  the  key  ; 
At  once  invaded  him  with  all  her  charms. 
And  the  first  step  he  made  was  in  her  arms  : 
The  leathern  outside,  boisterous  as  it  was. 
Gave  way,  and  bent  beneath  her  strict  embrace : 
On  either  side  the  kisses  flew  so  thick. 
That  neither  he  nor  she  had  breath  to  speak.. 
The  holy  man,  amazed  at  what  he  saw, 
Made  haste  to  sanctify  the  bliss  by  law  ; 
And  mutter'd  fast  the  matrimony  o'er, 
Eor  fear  committed  sin  should  get  before. 
His  work  perform'd,  he  left  the  pair  alone, 
Because  he  knew  he  could  not  go  too  soon ; 


408  BIGISMONDA  AKD  GUISCARDO. 

His  presence  odious,  when  his  task  was  done. 
What  thoughts  he  had  beseems  me  not  to  say  ; 
Though  some  surmise  he  went  to  fast  and  pray, 
And  needed  both  to  drive  the  tempting  thoughts  away. 

The  foe  once  gone,  they  took  their  full  delight ; 
'Twas  restless  rage,  and  tempest  all  the  night ; 
For  greedy  love  each  momeitt  would  employ. 
And  grudge  the  shortest  pauses  of  their  joy. 
Thus  were  their  loves  auspiciously  begun, 
And  thus  with  secret  care  were  carried  on. 
The  stealth  itself  did  appetite  restore, 
And  lookd  so  hke  a  sin,  it  pleased  the  more. 

The  cave  was  now  become  a  common  way, 
The  wicket,  often  open'd,  knew  the  key  : 
Love  rioted  secure,  and  long  enjoy  d, 
"Was  ever  eager,  and  was  never  cloy'd. 

But  as  extremes  are  short,  of  ill  and  good. 
And  tides  at  highest  mark  regorge  their  flood  ; 
So  fate,  that  could  no  more  improve  their  joy, 
Took  a  malicious  pleasure  to  destroy. 

Tancred,  who  fondly  loved,  and  whose  delight 
Was  placed  in  his  fair  daughter's  daily  sight, 
Of  custom,  when  his  state  affairs  were  done, 
Would  pass  his  pleasing  hours  with  her  alone  ; 
And,  as  a  father  s  privilege  allow'd. 
Without  attendance  of  the  officious  crowd. 

It  happen'd  once,  that  when  in  heat  of  day 
He  tried  to  sleep,  as  was  his  usual  way, 
The  balmy  slumber  fled  his  wakeful  eyes. 
And  forced  him,  in  his  own  despite,  to  rise : 
Of  sleep  forsaken,  to  reheve  his  care. 
He  sought  the  conversation  of  the  fair  ; 
But  with  her  train  of  damsels  she  was  gone, 
In  shady  walks  the  scorching  heat  to  shun : 
He  would  not  violate  that  sweet  recess, 
And  found  besides  a  welcome  heaviness, 
That  seized  his  eyes  ;  and  slumber,  which  forgot, 
When  call'd  before  to  come,  now  came  unsought. 
From  light  retired,  behind  his  daughter's  bed, 
He  for  approaching  sleep  composed  his  head  ; 
A  chair  was  ready,  for  that  use  design'd, 
So  quilbed,  that  he  lay  at  ease  reclined  ; 
The  curtains  closely  drawn,  the  light  to  screen, 
As  if  he  had  contrived  to  lie  imseen  : 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUKOARDO.  400 

Thus  covered  with  an  artificial  night, 

Sleep  did  his  office  soon,  and  seal'd  his  sight. 

With  Heaven  averse,  in  this  ill-omen'd  hour 
Was  Guiscard  summon'd  to  the  secret  bower, 
And  the  fair  nymph,  with  expectation  fired, 
From  her  attending  damsels  was  retired : 
For,  true  to  love,  she  measured  time  so  right. 
As  not  to  miss  one  moment  of  delight. 
The  garden,  seated  on  the  level  floor. 
She  left  behind,  and  locking  every  door, 
Thought  all  secure  ;  but  little  did  she  know, 
Blind  to  her  fate,  she  had  enclosed  her  foe. 
Attending  Guiscard,  in  his  leathern  frock, 
Stood  ready,  with  his  thrice-repeated  knock : 
Thrice  with  a  doleful  sound  the  jarring  grate 
Rung  deaf  and  hollow,  and  presaged  their  fate 
The  door  unlock'd,  to  know  delight  they  haste, 
And,  panting  in  each  other's  arms  embraced, 
Rush  to  the  conscious  bed,  a  mutual  freight, 
And  heedless  press  it  with  their  wonted  weight. 

The  sudden  bound  awaked  the  sleeping  sire, 
And  show'd  a  sight  no  parent  can  desire  ; 
His  opening  eyes  at  once  with  odious  view 
The  love  discover'd,  and  the  lover  knew : 
He  would  have  cried  ;  but  hoping  that  he  dreamt, 
Amazement  tied  his  tongue,  and  stopp'd  the  attempt. 
The  ensuing  moment  all  the  truth  declared, 
But  now  he  stood  collected,  and  prepared. 
For  malice  and  revenge  had  put  him  on  his  guard. 

So  like  a  lion  that  unheeded  lay. 
Dissembling  sleep,  and  watchful  to  betray. 
With  inward  rage  he  meditates  his  prey. 
The  thoughtless  pair,  indulging  their  desires. 
Alternate  kindled,  and  then  quench'd  their  fires  ; 
Nor  thinking  in  the  shades  of  death  bhey  play'd. 
Full  of  themselves,  themselves  alone  surveyed. 
And,  too  secure,  were  by  themselves  betray' d. 
Long  time  dissolved  in  pleasure  thus  they  lay, 
Till  nature  could  no  more  suffice  their  play  ; 
Then  rose  the  youth,  and  through  the  cave  again 
Returned  ;  the  princess  mingled  with  her  train.  * 

Resolved  his  unripe  vengeance  to  defer, — 
The  royal  spy, — when  now  the  coast  was  clear, 


410  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 

Sought  not  the  garden,  but  retired  unseen, 
To  brood  in  secret  on  his  gather'd  spleen, 
And  methodise  revenge  :  to  death  he  grieved ; 
And,  but  he  saw  the  crime,  had  scarce  beheved. 
The  appointment  for  the  ensuing  night  he  heard  ; 
And  therefore  in  the  cavern  had  prepared 
Two  brawny  yeomen  of  his  trusty  guard. 

Scarce  had  unwary  Guiscard  set  his  foot 
Within  the  foremost  entrance  of  the  grot, 
When  these  in  secret  ambush  ready  lay. 
And  rushing  on  the  sudden,  seized  the  prey: 
Encumber'd  with  his  frock,  without  defence. 
An  easy  prize,  they  led  the  prisoner  thence. 
And,  as  commanded,  brought  before  the  prince. 
The  gloomy  sire,  too  sensible  of  wrong 
To  vent  his  rage  in  words,  restrained  his  tongue  ; 
And  only  said.  Thus  servants  are  preferr'd, 
And,  trusted,  thus  their  sovereigns  they  reward. 
Had  I  not  seen,  had  not  these  eyes  received 
Too  clear  a  proof,  I  could  not  have  believed. 

He  paused  and  choked  the  rest.    The  youth  who  saw 

His  forfeit  life  abandon' d  to  the  law, 

The  judge  the  accuser,  and  the  offence  to  him 

Who  had  both  power  and  will  to  avenge  the  crime, 

No  vain  defence  prepared  ;  but  thus  replied : 

The  faults  of  love  by  love  are  justified : 

With  unresisted  might  the  monarch  reigns, 

He  levels  mountains,  and  he  raises  plains  ; 

And,  not  regarding  difference  of  degree. 

Abased  your  daughter,  and  exalted  me. 

This  bold  return  with  seeming  patience  heard, 

The  prisoner  was  remitted  to  the  guard. 

The  sullen  tyrant  slept  not  all  the  night. 

But,  lonely  walking  by  a  wtnking  light, 

Sobb'd,  wept,  and  groaned,  and  beat  his  withered  breast, 

But  would  not  violate  his  daughter's  rest ; 

Who  long  expecting  lay,  for  bliss  prepared. 

Listening  for  noise,  and  grieved  that  none  she  heard  ; 

Oft  rose,  and  oft  in  vain  employ'd  the  key. 

And  oft  accused  her  lover  of  delay ; 

Aid  pass'd  the  tedious  hours  in  anxious  thoughts  away. 
The  morrow  came  ;  and  at  his  usual  hour 

Old  Tancred  visited  his  daughter's  bower ; 


SIGI$MONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  411 

Her  cheek  (for  such  his  custom  was)  he  kiss'd, 
Then  bless'd  her  kneeUng,  and  her  maids  dismiss'd. 
The  royal  dignity  thus  far  maintain'd, 
Now  left  in  private,  he  no  longer  feign'd  ; 
But  all  at  once  his  grief  and  rage  appear'd, 
And  floods  of  tears  ran  trickling  down  his  beard. 

0  Sigismonda  !  he  began  to  say : 
Thrice  he  began,  and  thrice  was  forced  to  stay, 
Till  words,  with  often  trying,  found  their  way ; 
I  thought,  0  Sigismonda  (but  how  blind 
Are  parents'  eyes,  their  children's  faults  to  find  !) 
Thy  virtue,  birth,  and  breeding  were  above 
A  mean  desire,  and  vulgar  sense  of  love  : 
Nor  less  than  sight  and  hearing  could  convince 
So  fond  a  father,  and  so  just  a  prince, 
Of  such  an  unforeseen,  and  unbelieved  offence. 
Then  what  indignant  sorrow  must  I  have, 
To  see  thee  lie  subjected  to  my  slave ! 
A  man  so  smelling  of  the  people's  lee, 
The  court  received  him  first  for  charity : 
And  since,  with  no  degree  of  honour  graced, 
But  only  suffer'd,  where  he  first  was  placed  : 
A  grovelling  insect  still ;  and  so  design'd 
By  nature's  hand,  nor  born  of  noble  kind : 
A  thing,  by  neither  man  nor  woman  prized, 
And  scarcely  known  enough  to  be  despised. 
To  what  has  Heaven  reserved  my  age  ?     Ah  !  why 
Should  man,  when  nature  calls,  not  choose  to  die, 
Bather  than  stretch  the  span  of  life,  to  find 
Such  ills  as  fate  has  wisely  cast  behind. 
For  those  to  feel,  whom  fond  desire  to  live 
]\Iakes  covetous  of  more  than  life  can  give  ! 
Each  has  his  share  of  good  ;  and  when  'tis  gone, 
The  guest,  though  hungry,  cannot  rise  too  soon. 
But  I,  expecting  more,  in  my  own  wrong 
Protracting  life,  have  lived  a  day  too  long. 
If  yesterday  could  be  recall'd  again. 
Even  now  would  I  conclude  my  happy  reign : 
But  'tis  too  late,  my  glorious  race  is  run, 
And  a  dark  cloud  o'ertakes  my  setting  sim. 
Hadst  thou  not  loved,  or  loving  saved  the  shame, 
If  not  the  sin,  by  some  illustrious  name  ; 
This  Httle  comfort  had  reheved  my  mind, 
*Twas  frailty,  not  unusual  to  thy  kind : 


412  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO, 

But  thy  low  fall  beneath  thy  royal  blood, 
Shows  downward  appetite  to  mix  with  mud. 
Thus  not  the  least  excuse  is  left  for  thee, 
Nor  the  least  refuge  for  unhappy  me. 

For  him  I  have  resolved :  whom  by  surprise 
I  took,  and  scarce  can  call  it,  in  disguise  ; 
For  such  was  his  attire,  as,  with  intent 
Of  nature,  suited  to  his  mean  descent : 
The  harder  question  yet  remains  behind, 
What  pains  a  parent  and  a  prince  can  find 
To  punish  an  offence  of  this  degenerate  kind. 

As  I  have  loved,  and  yet  I  love  thee,  more 
Than  ever  father  loved  a  child  before  ; 
So  that  indulgence  draws  me  to  forgive  ; 
Nature,  that  gave  thee  life,  would  have  thee  live. 
But,  as  a  public  parent  of  the  state. 
My  justice,  and  thy  crime,  requires  thy  fate. 
Fain  would  I  choose  a  middle  course  to  steer ; 
Nature  's  too  kind,  and  justice  too  severe : 
Speak  for  us  both,  and  to  the  balance  bring 
On  either  side  the  father  and  the  king. 
Heaven  knows,  my  heart  is  bent  to  favour  thee  ; 
Make  it  but  scanty  weight,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me. 

Here  stopping  with  a  sigh,  he  pour'd  a  flood 
Of  tears,  to  make  his  last  expression  good. 
She,  who  had  heard  him  speak,  nor  saw  alone 
The  secret  conduct  of  her  love  was  known. 
But  he  was  taken  who  her  soul  possess'd, 
Felt  all  the  pangs  of  sorrow  in  her  breast ; 
And  httle  wanted,  but  a  woman's  heart, 
With  cries  and  tears,  had  testified  her  smart ; 
But  inborn  worth,  that  fortune  can  control, 
New  strung,  and  stiffer  bent  her  softer  soul ; 
The  heroine  assumed  the  woman's  place. 
Confirmed  her  mind,  and  fortified  her  face  : 
Why  should  she  beg,  or  what  could  she  pretend, 
When  her  stern  father  had  condemn'd  her  friend  ? 
Her  life  she  might  have  had  ;  but  her  despair 
Of  saving  his,  had  put  it  past  her  care  ; 
Resolved  on  fate,  she  would  not  lose  her  breath, 
But,  rather  than  not  die,  solicit  death. 
Fix'd  on  this  thought,  she  not,  as  women  use. 
Her  fault  by  common  frailty  would  excuse ; 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  413 

But  boldly  justified  her  innocence, 

And,  while  the  fact  was  own'd,  denied  the  offence  : 

Then  with  dry  eyes,  and  with  an  open  look, 

She  met  his  glance  mid- way,  and  thus  undaunted  spoke : 

Tancred,  I  neither  am  disposed  to  make 
Request  for  life,  nor  offer'd  life  to  take  ; 
Much  less  deny  the  deed  ;  but  least  of  all 
Beneath  pretended  justice  weakly  fall. 
My  words  to  sacred  truth  shall  be  confined, 
My  deeds  shall  show  the  greatness  of  my  mind. 
That  I  have  loved,  I  own  ;  that  still  I  love, 
I  call  to  witness  all  the  powers  above  : 
Yet  more  I  own  :  to  Guiscard's  love  I  give 
The  small  remaining  time  I  have  to  live ; 
And  if  beyond  this  life  desire  can  be, 
Not  fate  itself  shall  set  my  passion  free. 
This  first  avow'd  ;  nor  folly  warp'd  my  mind, 
Nor  the  frail  texture  of  the  female  kind 
Betray'd  my  virtue  :  for,  too  well  I  knew 
What  honour  was,  and  honour  had  his  due. 
Before  the  holy  priest  my  vows  were  tied, 
So  came  I  not  a  strumpet,  but  a  bride. 
This  for  my  fame,  and  for  the  public  voice : 
Yet  more,  his  merits  justified  my  choice  ; 
Which  had  they  not,  the  first  election  thine, 
That  bond  dissolved,  the  next  is  freely  mine  ; 
Or  grant  I  err'd,  (which  yet  I  must  deny) 
Had  parents  power  even  second  vows  to  tie. 
Thy  little  care  to  mend  my  widow'd  nights. 
Has  forced  me  to  recourse  of  marriage  rites, 
To  fill  an  empty  side,  and  follow  known  dehghts. 
What  have  I  done  in  this,  deserving  blame  ? 
State-laws  may  alter — Nature's  are  the  same ; 
Those  are  usurp'd  on  helpless  woman-kind. 
Made  without  our  consent,  and  wanting  power  to  bind. 

Thou,  Tancred,  better  shouldst  have  imderstiood. 
That  as  thy  father  gave  thee  flesh  and  blood, 
So  gavest  thou  me  :  not  from  the  quarry  he>v'd, 
But  of  a  softer  mould,  with  sense  endue4  ; 
Even  softer  than  thy  own,  of  suppler  kinji. 
More  exQuisite  of  taste,  and  more  than  man  refined. 
Nor  neea'st  thou  by  thy  daughter  to  be  told, 
%ough  now  thy  sprightly  blood  with  age  be  cold. 
37 


414  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 

Thou  hast  been  young :  and  canst  remember  still, 

That  when  thou  hadst  the  power,  thou  hadst  the  will ; 

And  from  the  past  experience  of  thy  fires, 

Canst  tell  with  what  a  tide  our  strong  desires 

Come  rushing  on  in  youth,  and  what  their  rage  requires. 

And  grant  thy  youth  was  exercised  in  arms. 
When  love  no  leisure  found  for  softer  charms, 
My  tender  age  in  luxury  was  train'd, 
With  idle  ease  and  pageants  entertain'd  ; 
My  hours  my  own,  my  pleasures  unrestrain'd  : 
So  bred,  no  wonder  if  I  took  the  bent 
That  seem'd  even  warranted  by  thy  consent ; 
For,  when  the  father  is  too  fondly  kind, 
Such  seed  he  sows,  such  harvest  shall  he  find. 
Blame  then  thyself,  as  reason's  law  requires, 
(Since  nature  gave,  and  thou  foment 'st  my  fires ;) 
If  still  those  appetites  continue  strong, 
Thou  may'st  consider,  I  am  yet  but  young : 
Consider  too  that,  having  been  a  wife, 
I  must  have  tasted  of  a  better  hf«, 
And  am  not  to  be  blamed,  if  I  renew 
By  lawful  means  the  joys  which  then  I  knew. 
Where  was  the  crime,  if  pleasure  I  procured. 
Young,  and  a  woman,  and  to  bliss  inured  ? 
That  was  my  case,  and  this  is  my  defence  : 
I  pleased  myself,  I  shunn'd  incontinence, 
And,  urged  by  strong  desires,  indulged  my  sense. 

Left  to  myself,  I  must  avow,  I  strove, 
From  public  shame  to  screen  my  secret  love. 
And,  well  acquainted  with  thy  native  pride, 
Endeavour'd,  what  I  could  not  help,  to  hide  ; 
For  which  a  woman's  wit  an  easy  way  supplied. 
How  this,  so  well  contrived,  so  closely  laid, 
Was  known  to  thee,  or  by  what  chance  betray'd, 
Is  not  my  care  ;  to  please  thy  pride  alone, 
I  could  have  wish'd  it  had  been  still  unknown. 

Nor  took  I  Guiscard  by  bhnd  fancy  led, 
Or  hasty  choice,  as  many  women  wed  ; 
But  with  dehberate  care,  and  ripen'd  thought, 
At  leisure  first  design'd,  before  I  wrought : 
On  him  I  rested,  after  long  debate. 
And  not  without  considering,  fix'd  my  fate  : 
His  flame  was  equal,  though  by  mine  inspired ; 
(For  eo  the  difference  of  our  birth  required ;) 


SIQISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  415 

Had  he  been  born  like  me,  like  me  his  love 
Had  first  begun,  what  mine  was  forced  to  move  : 
But  thus  beginning,  thus  we  persevere  ; 
Our  passions  yet  continue  what  they  were, 
Nor  length  of  trial  makes  our  joys  the  less  sincere. 

At  this  my  choice,  though  not  by  thine  allow'd, 
(Thy  judgment  herding  with  the  common  crowd) 
Thou  takest  unjij^t  offence ;  and,  led  by  them, 
Dost  less  the  merit,  than  the  man  esteem. 
Too  sharply,  Tancred,  by  thy  pride  betray'd. 
Hast  thou  against  the  laws  of  kind  inveigh'd  : 
For  all  the  oiFence  is  in  opinion  placed, 
Which  deems  high  birth  by  lowly  choice  debased. 
This  thought  alone  with  fury  fires  thy  breast, 
(For  holy  mamage  justifies  the  rest) 
That  I  have  sunk  the  glories  of  the  state, 
And  mix'd  my  blood  with  a  plebeian  mate ; 
In  which  I  wonder  thou  shouldst  oversee 
Superior  causes,  or  impute  to  me 
The  fault  of  fortune,  or  the  fates'  decree. 
Or  call  it  Heaven's  imperial  power  alone, 
Which  moves  on  springs  of  justice,  though  unknown. 
Yet  this  we  see,  though  order'd  for  the  best. 
The  bad  exalted,  and  the  good  oppress'd ; 
Permitted  laurels  grace  the  lawless  brow. 
The  unworthy  raised,  the  worthy  cast  below. 

But  leaving  that :  search  we  the  secret  springs. 
And  backward  trace  the  principles  of  things  ; 
There  shall  we  find,  that  when  the  world  began. 
One  common  mass  composed  the  mould  of  man ; 
One  paste  of  flesh  on  all  degrees  bestow'd, 
And  kneaded  up  ahke  with  moist'ning  blood. 
The  same  almighty  power  inspired  the  frame 
With  kindled  life,  and  form'd  the  souls  the  same : 
TTie  faculties  of  intellect  and  will 
Dispensed  with  equal  hand,  disposed  with  equal  skiU, 
Like  liberty  indulged,  with  choice  of  good  or  ill : 
Thus  born  alike,  from  virtue  first  began 
The  difference  that  distinguish'd  man  from  man : 
He  claim'd  no  title  from  descent  of  blood. 
But  that,  which  made  him  noble,  made  him  good : 
Warm'd  with  more  particles  of  heavenly  flame  ; 
He  wing'd  his  upward  flight,  and  soar'd  to  fame  ; 
The  rest  remain'd  below,  a  tribe  without  a  name. 


416  SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO. 

This  law,  though  custom  now  diverts  the  course, 
As  nature's  institute,  is  yet  in  force  ; 
Uncancell'd,  though  disused  ;  and  he,  whose  mind 
Is  virtuous,  is  alone  of  noble  kind  ; 
Though  poor  in  fortune,  of  celestial  race  ; 
And  he  commits  the  crime  who  calls  him  base. 

Now  lay  the  line  ;  and  measure  all  thy  court 
By  inward  virtue,  not  external  poi*t ;     ^ 
And  find  whom  justly  to  prefer  above 
The  man  on  whom  my  judgment  placed  my  love  : 
So  shalt  thou  see  his  parts  and  person  shine  ; 
And  thus  compared,  the  rest  a  base  degenerate  line. 
Nor  took  I,  when  I  first  surveyed  thy  court, 
His  valour,  or  his  virtues,  on  report ; 
But  trusted  what  I  ought  to  trust  alone, 
Relying  on  thy  eyes,  and  not  my  own  ; 
Thy  praise  (and  thine  was  then  the  public  voice) 
First  recommended  Guiscard  to  my  choice. 
Directed  thus  by  thee,  I  look'd,  and  found 
A  man  I  thought  deserving  to  be  crown'd  ; 
First  by  my  father  pointed  to  my  sight, 
Nor  less  conspicuous  by  his  native  light ; 
His  mind,  his  mien,  the  features  of  his  face, 
Excelling  all  the  rest  of  human  race  :     >. 
These  were  thy  thoughts,  and  thou  could'st  judge  aright , 
Till  interest  made  a  jaundice  in  thy  sight ; 
Or  should  I  grant  thou  didst  not  rightly  see  ; 
Then  thou  wert  first  deceived,  and  I  deceived  by  thee. 
But  if  thou  shalt  allege,  through  pride  of  mind, 
Thy  blood  with  one  of  base  condition  join'd, 
'Tis  false  ;  for  'tis  not  baseness  to  be  poor  ; 
His  poverty  augments  thy  crime^the  more  ; 
Upbraids  thy  justice  with  the  scant  regard  ' 
Of  worth  ;  whom  princes  praise,  they  should  reward. 
Are  these  the  kings  entrusted  by  the  crowd 
With  wealth,  to  be  dispensed  for  common  good  ? 
The  people  sweat  not  for  their  king's  delight, 
To  enrich  a  pimp,  or  raise  a  parasite  ; 
Theirs  is  the  toil ;  and  he,  who  well  has  served 
His  country,  has  his  country's  wealth  deserved. 
Ev'n  mighty  monarchs  oft  are  meanly  born, 
And  kings  by  birth  to  lowest  rank  return  ; 
All  subject  to  the  power  of  giddy  chance, 
For  fortune  can  depress,  or  can  advance : 


SIGISMONDA  AND  OUISCARDO.  4l7 

But  true  nobility  is  of  the  mind, 

Not  given  by  chance,  and  not  to  chance  resign'd. 

For  the  remaining  doubt  of  thy  decree. 

What  to  resolve,  and  how  dispose  of  me, 

Be  warn'd  to  cast  that  useless  care  aside, 

Myself  alone  will  for  myself  provide. 

If  in  thy  doting  and  decrepit  age, 

Thy  soul,  a  stranger  in  thy  youth  to  rage, 

Begins  in  cruel  deeds  to  take  delight. 

Gorge  with  my  blood  thy  barbarous  appetite ; 

For  I  so  little  am  disposed  to  pray 

For  life,  I  would  not  cast  a  wish  away. 

Such  as  it  is,  the  offence  is  all  my  own ; 

And  what  to  Guiscard  is  already  done. 

Or  to  be  done,  is  doom'd  by  thy  decree, 

That,  if  not  executed  first  by  thee. 

Shall  on  my  person  be  perform'd  by  me. 

Away !  with  women  weep,  and  leave  me  here, 
Fix'd,  like  a  man,  to  die  without  a  tear ; 
Or  save,  or  slay  us  both  this  present  hour ; 
'Tis  all  that  fate  has  left  within  thy  power. 

She  said :  nor  did  her  father  fail  to  find 
In  all  she  spoke,  the  greatness  of  her  mind ; 
Yet  thought  she  was  not  obstinate  to  die. 
Nor  deem'd  the  death  she  promised  was  so  nigh. 
Secure  in  this  belief,  he  left  the  dame. 
Resolved  to  spare  her  life  and  save  her  shame ; 
But  that  detested  object  to  remove. 
To  wreak  his  vengeance,  and  to  cure  her  love. 

Intent  on  this,  a  secret  order  sign'd 
The  death  of  Guiscard  to  his  guards  enjoined  ; 
Strangling  was  chosen,  and  the  night  the  time, 
A  mute  revenge,  and  blind  as  was  the  crime : 
His  faithful  heart,  a  bloody  sacrifice, 
Tom  from  his  breast,  to  glut  the  tyrant's  eyes. 
Closed  the  severe  command  :  for  (slaves  to  pay) 
What  kings  decree,  the  soldier  must  obey : 
Waged  against  foes ;  and  when  the  wars  are  o'er, 
Fit  only  to  maintain  despotic  power : 
Dangerous  to  freedom,  and  desired  alone 
By  kings  who  seek  an  arbitrary  throne. 
Such  were  these  guards  ;  as  ready  to  have  slain 
The  prince  himself,  allureci  with  greater  gain : 
37* 


418  SIGISMONDA  AND   GUISCARDO. 

So  was  the  charge  perform'd  with  better  will, 
By  men  inured  to  blood,  and  exercised  in  ill. 

Now,  though  the  sullen  sire  had  eased  his  mind, 
The  pomp  of  his  revenge  was  yet  behind, 
A  pomp  prepared  to  grace  the  present  he  design'd. 
A  goblet  rich  with  gems,  and  rough  with  gold, 
Of  depth,  and  breadth,  the  precious  pledge  to  hold^ 
With  cruel  care  he  chose  :  the  hollow  part 
Enclosed,  the  lid  conceal'd,  the  lover's  heart : 
Then  of  his  trusted  mischiefs  one  he  sent, 
And  bade  him  with  these  words  the  gift  present : 
Thy  father  sends  thee  this  to  cheer  thy  breast, 
And  glad  thy  sight  with  what  thou  lov'st  the  best ; 
As  thou  hast  pleased  his  eyes,  and  joy'd  his  mind, 
With  what  he  loved  the  most  of  human  kind. 

Ere  this  the  royal  dame,  who  well  had  weighed 
The  consequence  of  what  her  sire  had  said, 
Fix'd  on  her  fate,  against  the  expected  hour, 
Procured  the  means  to  have  it  in  her  power ; 
For  this,  she  had  distiU'd  with  early  care 
The  juice  of  simples  friendly  to  despair, 
A  magazine  of  death  ;  and  thus  prepared, 
Secure  to  die,  the  fatal  message  heard : 
Then  smiled  severe  ;  nor  with  a  troubled  look, 
Or  trembUng  hand  the  funeral  present  took ; 
Ev'n  kept  her  countenance,  when  the  lid  removed 
Disclosed  the  heart,  unfortunately  loved. 
She  needed  not  be  told,  within  whose  breast 
It  lodged  ;  the  message  had  explain'd  the  rest. 
Or  not  amazed,  or  hiding  her  surprise, 
She  sternly  on  the  bearer  fix'd  her  eyes  : 
Then  thus :  Tell  Tancred,  on  his  daughter's  part, 
The  gold,  though  precious,  equals  not  the  heart : 
But  he  did  weU  to  give  his  best ;  and  I, 
Who  wish'd  a  worthier  urn,  forgive  his  poverty ! 

At  this  she  curb'd  a  groan,  that  else  had  como, 
And,  pausing,  view'd  the  present  in  the  tomb ; 
Then  to  the  heart  adored  devoutly  glued 
Her  lips,  and  raising  it,  her  speech  renewed : 
Ev'n  from  my  day  of  birth,  to  this,  the  bound 
Of  my  unhappy  being,  I  have  found 
My  fathers  care  and  tenderness  expressed; 
But  this  last  act  of  love  excels  the  rest : 


SIGISMONDA  AND  GUISCARDO.  419 

For  this  so  dear  a  present,  bear  him  back 
The  best  return  that  I  can  Hve  to  make. 

The  messenger  despatch'd,  again  she  viewed 
The  loved  remains,  and  sighing  thus  pursued : 
Source  of  my  life,  and  lord  of  my  desires. 
In  whom  I  lived,  with  whom  my  soul  expires, 
Poor  heart,  no  more  the  spring  of  vital  heat. 
Cursed  be  the  hands  that  tore  thee  from  thy  seat ! 
The  course  is  finish'd  which  thy  fates  decreed, 
And  thou  from  thy  corporeal  prison  freed : 
Soon  hast  thou  reach'd  the  goal  with  mended  pace, 
A  world  of  woes  despatch'd  in  little  space. 
Forced  by  thy  worth,  thy  foe  in  death  become 
Thy  friend,  has  lodged  thee  in  a  costly  tomb. 
There  yet  remain'd  thy  funeral  exequies. 
The  weeping  tribute  of  thy  widow's  eyes, 
And  those,  indulgent  Heaven  has  found  the  way 
That  I,  before  my  death,  have  leave  to  pay. 
My  father  ev'n  in  cruelty  is  kind. 
Or  Heaven  has  turn'd  the  malice  of  his  mind 
To  better  uses  than  his  hate  design'd  ; 
And  made  th'  insult,  which  in  his  gift  appears. 
The  means  to  mourn  thee  with  my  pious  tears  ; 
Which  I  will  pay  thee  down,  before  I  go. 
And  save  myself  the  pains  to  weep  below, 
If  souls  can  weep.    Though  once  I  meant  to  meet 
My  fate  with  face  unmoved  and  eyes  unwet. 
Yet  since  I  have  thee  here  in  narrow  room. 
My  tears  shall  set  thee  first  afloat  within  thy  tomb : 
Then  (as  I  know  thy  spirit  hovers  nigh) 
Under  thy  friendly  conduct  will  I  fly 
To  regions  unexplored,  secure  to  share 
Thy  state :  nor  hell  shall  punishment  appear ; 
And  heaven  is  double  heaven,  if  thou  art  there  ! 

She  said  :  her  brimful  eyes,  that  ready  stood, 
And  only  wanted  will  to  keep  a  flood. 
Released  their  watery  store,  and  pour'd  amain. 
Like  clouds  low  hung,  a  sober  shower  of  rain ; 
Mute  solemn  sorrow,  free  from  female  noise, 
Such  as  the  majesty  of  grief  destroys  ; 
For,  bending  o'er  the  cup,  the  tears  she  shed 
Seem'd  by  the  posture  to  discharge  her  head, 
O'er-fill'd  before  ;  and  (oft  her  mouth  applied 
To  the  cold  heart,)  she  kiss'd  at  once,  and  cried. 


i' 


420  SIGISMONDA  ANT)  GUISCARDO. 

Her  maids,  who  stood  amazed,  nor  knew  the  cause 
Of  her  complaining,  nor  whose  heart  it  was  ; 
Yet  all  due  measures  of  her  mourning  kept. 
Did  office  at  the  dirge,  and  by  infection  wept ; 
And  oft  inquired  the  occasion  of  her  grief, 
(Unanswer'd  but  by  sighs)  and  ofFer'd  vain  rehef. 
At  length,  her  stock  of  tears  already  shed, 
She  wiped  her  eyes,  she  raised  her  drooping  head, 
And  thus  pursued  :  Oh  ever  faithful  heart ! 
I  have  perform'd  the  ceremonial  part. 
The  decencies  of  grief ;  it  rests  behind, 
That,  as  our  bodies  were,  our  souls  be  join'd  ; 
To  thy  whatever  abode  my  shade  convey, 
And  as  an  elder  ghost,  direct  the  way. 
She  said  ;  and  bade  the  vial  to  be  brought. 
Where  she  before  had  brew'd  the  deadly  draught : 
First  pouring  out  the  med'cinable  bane. 
The  heart,  her  tears  had  rinsed,  she  bathed  again  ; 
Then  down  her  throat  the  death  securely  throws, 
And  quatFs  a  long  oblivion  of  her  woes. 

This  done,  she  mounts  the  genial  bed,  and  there 
(Her  body  first  composed  with  honest  care) 
Attends  the  welcome  rest ;  her  hands  yet  hold 
Close  to  her  heart  the  monumental  gold ; 
Nor  farther  word  she  spoke,  but  closed  her  sight, 
And,  quiet,  sought  the  covert  of  the  night. 

The  damsels,  who  the  while  in  silence  moum'd, 
Not  knowing,  nor  suspecting  death  suborn'd, 
Yet,  as  their  duty  was,  to  Tancred  sent, 
Who,  conscious  of  the  occasion,  fear'd  the  event. 
Alarm'd,  and  with  presaging  heart,  he  came. 
And  drew  the  curtains,  and  exposed  the  dame 
To  loathsome  light :  then  with  a  late  relief 
Made  efforts  vain  to  mitigate  her  grief. 
She,  what  she  could,  excluding  day,  her  eyes 
Kept  firmly  seal'd,  and  sternly  thus  replies  : 

Tancred !  restrain  thy  tears,  unsought  by  me, 
And  sorrow  unavaiUng  now  to  thee  : 
Did  ever  man  before  afflict  his  mind 
To  see  the  effect  of  what  himself  design'd  ? 
Yet,  if  thou  hast  remaining  in  thy  heart 
Some  sense  of  love,  some  unextinguish'd  part 
Of  former  kindness,  largely  once  profess  *a. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA.  421 

Let  me  by  that  adjure  thy  hardened  breast, 
Not  to  deny  thy  daughter's  last  request : 
The  secret  love  which  I  so  long  enjqy'd, 
And  still  concealed  to  gratify  thy  pride, 
Thou  hast  disjoin 'd  ;  but,  with  my  dying  breath, 
Seek  not,  I  beg  thee,  to  disjoin  our  death  ; 
"Where'er  his  corpse  by  thy  command  is  laid. 
Thither  let  mine  in  pubUc  be  convey'd  ; 
Exposed  in  open  view,  and  side  by  side, 
Acknowledged  as  a  bridegroom  and  a  bride. 

The  prince's  anguish  hinder'd  his  reply : 
And  she,  who  felt  her  fate  approaching  nigh, 
Seized  the  cold  heart,  and  heaving  to  her  breast, 
Here,  precious  pledge,  she  said,  securely  rest ! 
These  accents  were  her  last ;  the  creeping  death 
Benumb'd  her  senses  first,  then  stopp'd  her  breath. 

Thus  she  for  disobedience  justly  died : 
The  sire  was  justly  punish'd  for  his  pride  : 
The  youth,  least  guilty,  suffer'd  for  the  ofifenco 
Of  duty  violated  to  his  prince  ; 
Who,  late  repenting  of  his  cruel  deed. 
One  common  sepulchre  for  both  decreed  ; 
Intomb'd  the  wretched  pair  in  royal  state, 
And  on  their  monument  inscribed  their  fate. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 

Of  all  the  cities  in  Romanian  lands. 
The  chief,  and  most  renown'd,  Ravenna  stands : 
Adom'd  in  ancient  times  with  arms  and  arts. 
And  rich  inhabitants,  with  generous  hearts. 
But  Theodore  the  brave,  above  the  rest, 
With  gifts  of  fortune  and  of  nature  bless'd, 
The  foremost  place  for  wealth  and  honour  held, 
And  all  in  feats  of  chivalry  eacell'd. 

This  noble  youth  to  madness  loved  a  dame, 
Of  high  degree,  Honoria  was  her  name  : 
Fair  as  the  fairest,  but  of  haughty  mind, 
And  fiercer  than  became  so  soft  a  kind  ; 
Proud  of  her  birth,  (for  equal  she  had  none,) 
The  rest  she  scom'd  ;  but  hated  him  alone. 
His  gifts,  his  constant  courtship,  nothing  gained ; 
For  sh^  the  more  he  loved,  the  more  disdain'd. 


422  ..  OSIEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 

He  lived  with  all  the  pomp  he  could  devise, 

At  tilts  and  tournametits  obtained  the  prize ; 

But  found  no  favour  in  his  lady's  eyes : 

Relentless  as  a  rock,  the  lofty  maid 

Turn'd  all  to  poison  that  he  did  or  said ; 

Nor  pi^ayers,  nor  tears,  nor  offered  vows,  could  move  ; 

The  work  went  backward  ;  and,  the  more  he  strove 

To  advance  his  suit,  the  farther  from  her  love. 

Wearied  at  length,  and  wanting  remedy, 
He  doubted  oft,  and  oft  resolved  to  die. 
But  pride  stood  ready  to  prevent  the  blow ; 
For  who  would  die  to  gratify  a  foe  ? 
His  generous  mind  disdain'd  so  mean  a  fate  ; 
That  pass'd,  his  next  endeavour  was  to  hate. 
But  vainer  that  relief  than  all  the  rest, 
The  less  he  hoped,  with  more  desire  possess'd ; 
Love  stood  the  siege,  and  would  not  yield  his  breast. 
Change  was  the  next,  but  change  deceived  his  care  ; 
He  sought  a  fairer,  but  found  none  so  fair. 
He  would  have  worn  her  out  by  slow  degrees, 
As  men  by  fasting  starve  the  untamed  disease : 
But  present  love  required  a  present  ease. 
Looking  he  feeds  alone  his  famish'd  eyes. 
Feeds  lingering  death,  but  looking  not  he  dies. 
Yet  still  he  chose  the  longest  way  to  fate, 
Wasting  at  once  his  life  and  his  estate. 

His  friends  beheld,  and  pitied  him  in  vain  ; 
For  what  advice  can  ease  a  lovers  pain  1 
Absence,  the  best  expedient  they  qould  find, 
Might  save  the  fortune,  if  not  cure  the  mind  : 
This  means  they  long  proposed,  but  httle  gain'd  ; 
Yet  after  much  pursuit,  at  length  obtained. 

Hard  you  may  think  it  was  to  give  consent. 
But  struggling  with  his  own  desires  he  went. 
With  large  expense,  and  with  a  pompous  train. 
Provided  as  to  visit  France  and  Spain,  ^ 
Or  for  some  distant  voyage  o'er  the  main. 
But  love  had  clipp'd  his  wings,  and  cut  him  short. 
Confined  within  the  purlieus  of  the  court. 
Three  miles  he  went,  nor  farther  could  retreat ; 
His  travels  ended  at  his  country-seat : 
To  Chassis'  pleasing  plains  he  took  his  way, 
There  pitch'd  his  tents,  and  there  resolved  to  stay. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA.  423 

The  spring  was  in  the  prime :  the  neighbouring  grove 
Supplied  with  birds,  the  choristers  of  love, 
Music  unbought,  that  minister'd  deUght 
To  morning  walks,  and  lull'd  his  cares  by  night ; 
There  he  discharged  his  friends ;  but  not  the  expense 
Of  frequent  treats,  and  proud  magnificence. 
He  lived  as  kings  retire,  though  more  at  large 
From  pubhc  business,  yet  with  equal  charge ; 
With  house  and  heart  still  open  to  receive  ; 
As  wen  content  as  love  would  give  him  leave : 
He  would  have  lived  more  free  ;  but  many  a  guest, 
Who  could  forsake  the  friend,  pursued  the  feast. 

It  happ'd  one  morning,  as  his  fancy  leil, 
Before  his  usual  hour  he  left  his  bed. 
To  walk  within  a  lonely  lawn,  that  stood 
On  every  side  surrounded  by  a  wood : 
Alone  he  walk'd,  to  please  his  pensive  mind. 
And  sought  the  deepest  solitude  to  find ; 
'Twas  in  a  grove  of  spreading  pines  he  stray'd  ; 
The  winds  within  the  quivering  branches  play'd, 
And  dancing  trees  a  mournful  music  made. 
The  place  itself  was  suiting  to  his  care, 
Uncouth  and  savage,  as  the  cruel  fair. 
He  wander'd  on,  unknowing  where  he  went, 
Lost  in  the  wood,  and  all  on  love  intent : 
The  day  already  half  his  race  had  run, 
And  summon'd  him  to  due  repast  at  noon ; 
But  love  could  feel  no  hunger  but  his  own. 

Whilst  hstening  to  the  murmuring  leaves  he  stood, 
More  than  a  mile  immersed  within  the  wood. 
At  once  the  wind  was  laid  ;  the  whispering  sound 
Was  dumb  ;  a  rising  earthquake  rock'd  the  ground ; 
With  deeper  brown  the  grove  was  overspread  ; 
A  sudden  horror  seized  his  giddy  head. 
And  his  ears  tinkled,  and  his  colour  fled. 
Nature  was  in  alarm  ;  some  danger  nigh 
Seem'd  threatened,  though  unseen  to  mortal  eye. 
Unused  to  fear,  he  summon'd  all  his  soul, 
And  stood  collected  in  himself,  and  whole ; 
Not  long  ;  for  soon  a  whirlwind  rose  around. 
And  from  afar  he  heard  a  screaming  sound, 
As  of  a  dame  distress'd,  who  cried  for  aid, 
Aftd  fill'd  with  loud  laments  the  secret  shade. 


424  THEODORE  AND   HONORIA. 

A  thicket  close  beside  the  grove  there  stood, 
With  briers  and  brambles  choked,  and  dwarfish  wood ; 
From  thence  the  noise,  which  now  approaching  near, 
With  more  distinguish'd  notes  invades  his  ear : 
lie  raised  his  head,  and  saw  a  beauteous  maid, 
With  hair  dishevelled,  issuing  through  the  shade  ; 
Stripped  of  her  clothes,  and  e'en  those  parts  reveal*  d, 
Which  modest  nature  keeps  from  sight  conceal'd. 
Her  face,  her  hands,  her  naked  limbs  were  torn, 
With  passing  through  the  brakes  and  prickly  thorn ; 
Two  mastiffs  gaunt  and  grim  her  flight  pursued. 
And  oft  their  fasten'd  fangs  in  blood  imbrued  ; 
Oft  they  came  up,  and  pinch'd  her  tender  side, 
l^ercy,  O  mercy.  Heaven  !  she  ran  and  cried  ; 
When  Heaven  was  named,  they  loosed  their  hold  again, 
Then  sprung  she  forth,  they  follow'd  her  amain. 

Not  far  behind,  a  knight  of  swarthy  face, 
High  on  a  coal-black  steed  pursued  the  chase  ; 
With  flashing  flames  his  ardent  eyes  were  fiU'd, 
And  in  his  hand  a  naked  sword  he  held : 
He  checr'd  the  dogs  to  follow  her  who  fled, 
And  vow'd  revenge  on  her  devoted  head. 

As  Theodore  was  bom  of  noble  kind. 
The  brutal  action  roused  his  manly  mind  ; 
Moved  with  unworthy  usage  of  the  maid. 
He,  though  'unarmed,  resolved  to  give  her  aid. 
A  sapling  pine  he  wrench'd  from  out  the  ground. 
The  readiest  weapon  that  his  fury  found.  '■■--^M 

Thus  furnish'd  for  offence,  he  cross'd  the  way  PjH 

Betwixt  the  graceless  villain  and  his  prey.  ^* 

The  knight  came  thundering  on,  but,  from  afar, 
Thus,  in  imperious  tone,  forbade  the  war : 
Cease,  Theodore,  to  proffer  vain  relief. 
Nor  stop  the  vengeance  of  so  just  a  grief; 
But  give  me  leave  to  seize  my  destined  prey, 
And  let  eternal  justice  take  the  way : 
I  but  revenge  my  fate  ;  disdain'd,  betray'd. 
And  suffering  death  for  this  ungratefiil  maid. 

He  said,  at  once  dismounting  from  the  steed ; 
For  now  the  hell-hounds,  with  superior  speed. 
Had  reach'd  the  dame,  and  fastening  on  her  side, 
The  ground  with  issuing  streams  of  purple  dyed. 
Stood  Theodore  surprised  in  deadly  fright, 
With  chattering  teeth,  and  bristling  hair  upright ; 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA.  425 

Yet  arm*d  with  inborn  worth,  Whate'er,  said  he, 
Thou  art,  who  knowst  me  better  than  I  thee ; 
Or  prove  thy  rightful  cause,  or  be  defied  ! 
The  spectre,  fiercely  staring,  thus  repHed  :— 

Know,  Theodore,  thy  ancestry  I  claim, 
And  Guido  Cavalcanti  was  my  name  : 
One  common  sire  our  fathers  did  beget ; 
My  name  and  story  some  remember  yet : 
Thee,  then  a  boy,  within  my  arms  I  laid, 
When  for  my  sins,  I  loved  this  haughty  maid ; 
Not  less  adored  in  Ufe,  nor  served  by  me. 
Than  proud  Honoria  now  is  loved  by  thee. 
What  did  I  not  her  stubborn  heart  to  gain  ? 
But  all  my  vows  were  answered  with  disdain : 
She  scom'd  my  sorrows,  and  despised  my  pain. 
Long  time  I  dragg'd  my  days  in  fruitless  care  ; 
Then  loathing  life,  and  plunged  in  deep  despair, 
To  finish  my  unhappy  life,  I  fell 
On  this  sharp  sword,  and  now  am  damn*d  in  hell. 
Short  was  her  joy  ;  for  soon  the  insulting  maid 
By  Heaven's  decree  in  the  cold  grave  was  laid. 
And,  as  in  unrepented  sin  she  died, 
Doom'd  to  the  same  bad  place,  is  pimish'd  for  her  pride ; 
Because  she  deem'd  I  well  deserved  to  die, 
And  made  a  merit  of  her  cruelty. 
There,  then,  wo  met ;  both  tried,  and  both  were  cast> 
And  this  irrevocable  sentence  pass'd : 
That  she,  whom  I  so  long  pursued  in  vain, 
Should  suffer  from  my  hands  a  lingering  pain : 
Renew'd  to  life  that  she  might  daily  die, 
I  daily  doom'd  to  follow,  she  to  fly ; 
No  more  a  lover,  but  a  mortal  foe, 
I  seek  her  life  (for  love  is  none  below)  : 
As  often  as  my  dogs  with  better  speed 
Arrest  her  flight,  is  she  to  death  decreed : 
Then  with  this  fatal  sword,  on  which  I  died, 
I  pierce  her  open  back,  or  tender  side. 
And  tear  that  hardened  heart  from  out  her  breast. 
Which,  with  her  entrails,  makes  my  hungry  hounds  a  feast 
Nor  lies  ahe  long,  but  as  her  fates  ordain. 
Springs  up  to  life,  and  fresh  to  second  pain. 
Is  saved  to-day,  to-morrow  to  be  slain. 

This,  versed  in  death,  the  infernal  knight  relates, 
And  then  for  proof  fulfill'd  the  common  fates ; 
38 


426  THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 

Her  heart  and  bowels  through  her  back  he  drew, 
And  fed  the  hounds  that  help'd  him  to  pursue. 
Stem  look'd  the  fiend,  as  frustrate  of  his  will, 
Not  half  sufficed,  and  greedy  yet  to  kill. 
And  now  the  soul,  expiring  through  the  wound, 
Had  left  the  body  breathless  on  the  ground, 
When  thus  the  grisly  spectre  spoke  again : 
Behold  the  fruit  of  ill-rewarded  pain  : 
As  many  months  as  I  sustain'd  her  hate, 
So  many  years  is  she  condemn'd  by  fate 
To  daily  death  ;  and  every  several  place 
Conscious  of  her  disdain,  and  my  disgrace. 
Must  witness  her  just  punishment ;  and  be 
A  scene  of  triumph  and  revenge  to  me. 
As  in  this  grove  I  took  my  last  farewell. 
As  on  this  very  spot  of  earth  I  fell, 
As  Friday  saw  me  die,  so  she  my  prey 
Becomes  ev'n  here,  on  this  revolving  day. 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  virgin  from  the  ground 
Upstarted  fresh,  already  closed  the  wound, 
And,  unconcern'd  for  all  she  felt  before, 
Precipitates  her  flight  along  the  shore  : 
The  hell-hounds,  as  ungorged  with  flesh  and  blood, 
Pursue  their  prey,  and  seek  their  wonted  food  : 
The  fiend  remounts  his  courser  ;  mends  his  pace. 
And  all  the  vision  vanish'd  from  the  place. 

Long  stood  the  noble  youth  oppress'd  with  awe. 
And  stupid  at  the  wondrous  things  he  saw. 
Surpassing  common  faith,  transgressing  nature's  law  : 
He  would  have  been  asleep,  and  wish'd  to  wake ; 
But  dreams,  he  knew,  no  long  impression  make, 
Though  strong  at  first ;  if  vision,  to  what  end. 
But  such  as  must  his  future  state  portend  1 
His  love  the  damsel,  and  himself  the  fiend. 
But  yet  reflecting  that  it  could  not  be 
From  Heaven,  which  cannot  impious  acts  decree ; 
Resolved  within  himself  to  shun  the  snare. 
Which  hell  for  his  destruction  did  prepare  ; 
And  as  his  better  genius  should  direct. 
From  an  ill  cause  to  draw  a  good  efiect. 

Inspired  from  Heaven,  he  homeward  took  his  way, 
Nor  pall'd  his  new  design  with  long  delay ; 
But  of  his  train  a  trusty  servant  sent. 
To  call  his  friends  together  at  his  tent. 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA.  427 

They  came,  and  usual  salutations  paid, 
With  words  premeditated  thus  he  said : 
AVTiat  you  have  often  counsell'd,  to  remove 
My  vain  pursuit  of  unregarded  love, 
By  thrift  my  sinking  fortune  to  repair, 
Though  late,  yet  is  at  last  become  my  care : 
My  heart  shall  be  my  own ;  my  vast  expense 
Reduced  to  bounds,  by  timely  providence : 
This  only  I  require ;  invite  for  me 
Honoria,  with  her  father's  family. 
Her  friends,  and  mine ;  the  cause  I  shall  display, 
On  Friday  next ;  for  that 's  the  appointed  day. 

Well  pleased  were  all  his  friends ;  the  task  was  light ; 
The  father,  mother,  daughter,  they  invite ; 
Hardly  the  dame  was  drawn  to  this  repast ; 
But  yet  resolved,  because  it  was  the  last. 
The  day  was  come,  the  guests  invited  came, 
And,  with  the  rest,  the  inexorable  dame  : 
A  feast  prepared  with  riotous  expense, 
]\Iuch  cost,  more  care,  and  most  magnificence. 
The  place  ordain'd  was  in  that  haunted  grove, 
Where  the  revenging  ghost  pursued  his  love ; 
The  tables  in  a  proud  pavilion  spread, 
With  flowers  below,  and  tissue  overhead : 
The  rest  in  rank,  Honoria  chief  in  place. 
Was  artfully  contrived  to  set  her  face 
To  front  the  thicket,  and  behold  the  chase. 
The  feast  was  served,  the  time  so  well  forecast, 
That  just  when  the  dessert  and  fruits  were  placed, 
The  fiend's  alarm  began  :  the  hollow  sound 
Sung  in  the  leaves,  the  forest  shook  around. 
Air  blacken'd,  roU'd  the  thunder,  groan'd  the  ground. 

Nor  long  before  the  loud  laments  arise 
Of  one  distress'd,  and  mastiffs'  mingled  cries ; 
And  first  the  dame  came  rushing  through  the  wood, 
And  next  the  famish'd  hounds  that  sought  their  food, 
And  griped  her  flanks,  and  oft  essay'd  their  jaws  in  blood. 
Last  came  the  felon,  on  his  sable  steed, 
Arm'd  with  his  naked  sword,  and  urged  his  dogs  to  speed. 
She  ran,  and  cried,  her  flight  directly  bent, 
(A  guest  unbidden)  to  the  fatal  tent, 
The  scene  of  death,  and  place  ordain'd  for  pimishment. 
Loud  was  the  noise,  aghast  was  every  guest, 
The  women  shriek'd,  the  m^n  forsook  the  feast ; 


428  THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 

The  hounds  at  nearer  distance  hoarsely  bay'd  ; 
The  hunter  close  pursued  the  visionary  maid ; 
She  rent  the  heaven  with  loud  laments,  imploring  aid. 

The  gallants,  to  protect  the  lady's  right, 
Their  falchions  brandish'd  at  the  grisly  spright ; 
High  on  his  stirrups  he  provoked  the  tight. 
Then  on  the  crowd  he  cast  a  furious  look, 
And  withered  all  their  strength  before  he  strook : 
Back,  on  your  lives,  let  be,  said  he,  my  prey, 
And  let  my  vengeance  take  the  destined  way: 
Vain  are  your  arms,  and  vainer  your  defence, 
Against  the  eternal  doom  of  Providence : 
Mine  is  the  ungrateful  maid  by  Heaven  design'd: 
Mercy  she  would  not  give,  nor  mercy  shall  she  find. 
At  this  the  former  tale  again  he  told 
With  thundering  tone,  and  dreadful  to  behold. 
Sunk  were  their  hearts  with  horror  of  the  crime, 
Kor  needed  to  be  warn'd  a  second  time. 
But  bore  each  other  back :  some  knew  the  face, 
And  all  had  heard  the  much-lamented  case 
Of  him  who  fell  for  love,  and  this  the  fatal  place. 

And  now  the  infernal  minister  advanced. 
Seized  the  due  victim,  and  with  fury  lanced 
Her  back,  and  piercing  through  her  inmost  heart, 
Drew  backward  as  before  the  offending  part. 
The  reeking  entrails  next  he  tore  away. 
And  to  his  meagre  mastiffs  made  a  prey. 
The  pale  assistants  on  each  other  stared. 
With  gaping  mouths  for  issuing  words  prepared  : 
•The  still-born  sounds  upon  the  palate  hung. 
And  died  imperfect  on  the  faltering  tongue. 
The  fright  was  general ;  but  the  female  band 
(A  helpless  train)  in  more  confusion  stand  ; 
With  horror  shuddering,  on  a  heap  they  run. 
Sick  at  the  sight  of  hateful  justice  done ; 
For  conscience  rung  the  alarm,  and  made  the  case  their 
own. 

So  spread  upon  a  lake,  with  upward  eye, 
A  plump  of  fowl  behold  their  foe  on  high ; 
They  close  theii*  trembling  troop ;  and  all  attend 
On  whom  the  sousing  eagle  wiU  descend. 

But  most  the  proud  Honoria  fear'd  the  event, 
And  thought  to  her  alone  the  vision  sent. 
Her  guilt  presents  to  her  distracted  mind 


THEODORE  AND  HONORIA.  429 

Heaven's  justice,  Theodore's  revengeful  kind, 
And  the  same  fate  to  the  same  sin  assigned ; 
Already  sees  herself  the  monster's  prey, 
And  feels  her  heart  and  entrails  torn  away. 
'Twas  a  mute  scene  of  sorrow,  mix'd  with  fear ; 
Still  on  the  table  lay  the  unfinish'd  cheer : 
The  knight  and  hungry  mastiffs  stood  around, 
The  mangled  dame  lay  breathless  on  the  ground : 
When  on  a  sudden,  re-inspired  with  breath, 
Again  she  rose,  again  to  suffer  death  ; 
Nor  staid  the  hell-hounds,  nor  the  hunter  staid, 
But  follow'd,  as  before,  the  flying  maid  : 
The  avenger  took  from  earth  the  avenging  sword, 
And  mounting  light  as  air  his  sable  steed  he  spurr'd : 
The  clouds  dispell'd,  the  sky  resumed  her  hght. 
And  Nature  stood  recover 'd  of  her  fright. 

But  fear,  the  last  of  ills,  remain'd  behind, 
And  horror  heavy  sat  on  every  mind. 
Nor  Theodore  encouraged  more  the  feast, 
But  sternly  look'd,  as  hatching  in  his  breast 
Some  deep  design ;  which  when  Honoria  view'd. 
The  fresh  impulse  her  former  fright  renew'd ; 
She  thought  herself  the  trembUug  dame  who  fled, 
And  him  the  grisly  ghost  that  spurr'd  the  infernal  steed  • 
The  more  dismay' d,  for  when  the  guests  withdrew. 
Their  courteous  host  saluting  all  the  crew, 
Kegardless  pass'd  her  o'er,  nor  gracea  with  kind  adieu. 
That  sting  infix'd  within  her  haughty  mind. 
The  downfal  of  her  empire  she  divined ; 
And  her  proud  heart  with  secret  sorrow  pined. 
Home  as  they  went,  the  sad  discourse  renew'd. 
Of  the  relentless  dame  to  death  pursued, 
And  of  the  sight  obscene  so  lately  view'd. 
None  durst  arraign  the  righteous  doom  she  bore, 
Ev'n  they  who  pitied  most,  yet  blamed  her  more : 
The  parallel  they  needed  not  to  name, 
But  in  the  dead  they  damn'd  the  living  dame. 

At  every  little  noise  she  look'd  behind. 
For  still  the  knight  was  present  to  her  mind: 
And  anxious  oft  she  started  on  the  way, 
And  thought  the  horseman-ghost  came  thimdering  for  his 

prey. 
Retum'd  she  took  her  bed  with  little  rest. 
But  in  short  slumbers  dreamt  the  funeral  feast : 
38* 


430  THEODORE  AND  HONORIA. 

Awaked,  she  tum'd  her  side,  and  slept  again ; 
The  same  black  vapours  mounted  in  her  brain, 
And  the  same  dreams  return'd  with  double  pain. 

Now  forced  to  wake,  because  afraid  to  sleep, 
Her  blood  all  fever'd,  with  a  furious  leap 
She  sprung  from  bed,  distracted  in  her  mind,    ' 
And  fear'd,  at  every  step,  a  twitching  spright  behind. 
Darkling  and  desperate,  with  a  staggering  pace, 
Of  death  afraid,  and  conscious  of  disgrace  ; 
Fear,  pride,  remorse,  at  once  her  heart  assail'd, 
Pride  put  remorse  to  flight,  but  fear  prevail'd. 
Friday,  the  fatal  day,  when  next  it  came, 
Her  soul  forethought  the  fiend  would  change  his  game, 
And  her  pursue,  or  Theodore  be  slain. 
And  two  ghosts  join  their  packs  to  hunt  her  o'er  the  plain 

This  dreadful  image  so  possess'd  her  mind, 
That  desperate  any  succour  else  to  find, 
She  ceased  all  farther  hope  ;  and  now  began 
To  make  reflection  on  the  unhappy  man. 
Kich,  brave,  and  young,  who  past  expression  loved, 
Proof  to  disdain,  and  not  to  be  removed ; 
Of  all  the  men  respected  and  admired. 
Of  all  the  dames,  except  herself,  desired : 
Why  not  of  her  ?  preferr'd  above  the  rest 
By  him  with  knightly  deeds,  and  open  love  profess'd  ? 
So  had  another  been,  where  he  his  vows  address'd. 
This  quell'd  her  pride,  yet  other  doubts  remain'd. 
That  once  disdaining,  she  might  be  disdain'd. 
The  fear  was  just,  but  greater  fear  prevail'd, 
Fear  of  her  life  by  helHsh  hounds  assail'd ; 
He  took  a  lowering  leave ;  but  who  can  tell 
What  outward  hate  might  inward  love  conceal ; 
Her  sex's  arts  she  knew,  and  why  not,  then. 
Might  deep  dissembling  have  a  place  in  men  ] 
Here  hope  began  to  dawn ;  resolved  to  try. 
She  fix'd  on  this  her  utmost  remedy ; 
Death  was  behind,  but  hard  it  was  to  die. 
'Twas  time  enough  at  last  on  death  to  call. 
The  precipice  in  sight :  a  shrub  was  all 
That  kindly  stood  betwixt  to  break  the  fatal  falL 

One  maid  she  had,  beloved  above  the  rest ; 
Secure  of  her,  the  secret  she  confess'd  ; 
And  now  the  cheerful  light  her  fears  dispell'd. 


OYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  431 

She  with  no  winding  turns  the  truth  conceal'd, 
But  put  the  woman  off,  and  stood  reveal'd : 
With  faults  confess'd  commission 'd  her  to  go, 
If  pity  yet  had  place,  and  reconcile  her  foe. 
The  welcome  message  made,  was  soon  received ; 
'Twas  to  be  wish'd,  and  hoped,  but  scarce  believed : 
Fatie  seem'd  a  fair  occasion  to  present, 
He  knew  the  sex,  and  fear'd  she  might  repent 
Should  he  delay  the  moment  of  consent. 
There  yet  remain'd  to  gain  her  friends  (a  care 
llie  modesty  of  maidens  well  might  spare)  ; 
But  she  with  such  a  zeal  the  cause  embraced, 
(As  women,  where  they  wiU,  are  all  in  haste,) 
The  father,  mother,  and  the  kin  beside,  ^ 
Were  overborne  by  fury  of  the  tide ; 
With  full  consent  of  all,  she  changed  her  state : 
Resistless  in  her  love,  as  in  her  hate. 

By  her  example  warn'd,  the  rest  beware; 
More  easy,  less  imperious,  were  the  fair ; 
And  that  one  hunting,  which  the  devil  designed 
For  one  fair  female,  lost  him  half  the  kind. 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

Poeta  Loquitur. 

Old  as  I  am,  for  ladies'  love  unfit. 

The  power  of  beauty  I  remember  yet, 

Which  once  inflamed  my  soul,  and  still  inspires  my  wit. 

If  love  be  folly,  the  severe  divine  * 

Has  felt  that  folly,  though  he  censures  mine ; 

Pollutes  the  pleasures  of  a  chaste  embrace, 

Acts  what  I  write,  and  propagates  in  grace, 

With  riotous  excess,  a  priestly  race. 

Suppose  him  free,  and  that  I  forge  the  offence, 

He  show'd  the  way,  perverting  first  my  sense  : 

In  malice  witty,  and  with  venom  fraught, 

He  makes  me  speak  the  things  I  never  thought. 

Compute  the  gains  of  his  ungovem'd  zeal : 

111  suits  his  cloth  the  praise  of  railing  welL 

♦  Jeremy  Collier. 


432  CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

The  world  will  think  that  what  we  loosely  write, 

Though  now  arraign'd,  he  read  with  some  dehght ; 

Because  he  seems  to  chew  the  cud  again, 

"When  his  broad  comment  makes  the  text  too  plain ; 

And  teaches  more  in  one-explaining  page, 

Than  all  the  double  meanings  of  the  stage. 

What  needs  he  paraphrase  on  what  we  mean  ? 
We  were  at  worst  but  wanton ;  he  \s  obscene, 
I,  nor  my  fellows,  nor  myself  excuse ; 
But  love's  the  subject  of  the  comic  muse: 
Nor  can  we  write  without  it,  nor  would  you 
A  tale  of  only  dry  instruction  view. 
Nor  love  is  always  of  a  vicious  kind. 
But  ofb  to  virtuous  acts  inflames  the  mind, 
Awakes  the  sleepy  vigour  of  the  soul, 
And,  brushing  o'er,  adds  motion  to  the  pool. 
Love,  studious  how  to  please,  improves  our  parts 
With  polish'd  manners,  and  adorns  with  arts. 
Love  first  invented  verse,  and  formed  the  rhyme, 
The  motion  measured,  harmonised  the  chime ; 
To  liberal  acts  enlarged  the  narrow-soul'd, 
Soften'd  the  fierce,  and  made  the  coward  bold  : 
The  world,  when  waste,  he  peopled  with  increase. 
And  warring  nations  reconciled  in  peace. 
Ormond,  the  first,  and  all  the  fair  may  find, 
In  this  one  legend,  to  their  fame  design'd. 
When  beauty  fires  the  blood,  how  love  exalts  the  mind.' 


In  that  sweet  isle  where  Venus  keeps  her  court, 
And  every  grace,  and  all  the  loves  resort ; 
Where  either  sex  is  form'd  of  softer  earth. 
And  takes  the  bent  of  pleasure  from  their  birth ; 
There  lived  a  C}T)rian  lord,  above  the  rest 
Wise,  wealthy,  with  a  numerous  issue  bless'd ; 
But,  as  no  gift  of  fortune  is  sincere, 
Was  only  wanting  in  a  wort.iy  heir : 
His  eldest  bom,  a  goodly  youth  to  view, 
Exceird  the  rest  in  shape  arl  outward  show; 
Fair,  tall,  his  limbs  with  due  proportion  join'd, 
But  of  a  heavy,  d^Ul,  degenerate  mind. 
His  soul  belied  the  features  of  his  face ; 
Beauty  was  there,  but  beauty  in  disgrace; 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  433 

A  clownish  mien,  a  voice  with  rustic  sound, 

And  stupid  eyes  that  ever  loved  the  ground. 

He  look'd  Hke  nature's  error,  as  the  mind 

And  body  were  not  of  a  piece  designed, 

But  made  for  two,  and  by  mistake  in  one  were  join'd. 

The  ruhng  rod,  the  father's  forming  care, 
"VVere  exercised  in  vain  on  wit's  despair  ; 
ITie  more  inform'd,  the  less  he  understood. 
And  deeper  sunk  by  floundering  in  the  mud. 
Now  scorn'd  of  all,  and  grown  the  public  shame, 
The  people  from  Galesus  changed  his  name. 
And  Cymon  call'd,  which  signifies  a  brute ; 
So  well  his  name  did  with  his  nature  suit. 

His  father,  when  he  found  his  labour  lost. 
And  care  employ'd,  that  answer'd  not  the  cost, 
Chose  an  ungrateful  object  to  remove. 
And  loathed  to  see  what  nature  made  him  love ; 
So  to  his  country-farm  the  fool  confined ; 
Rude  work  well  suited  with  a  rustic  mind. 
Thus  to  the  wilds  the  sturdy  Cymon  went, 
A  squire  among  the  swains,  and  pleased  with  banishment. 
His  corn  and  cattle  were  his  only  care, 
And  his  supreme  delight,  a  country  fair. 

It  happen'd  on  a  summer's  holiaay. 
That  to  the  greenwood-shade  he  took  his  way ; 
For  Cymon  shunn'd  the  church,  and  used  not  much  to 

pray. 
His  quarter-staff,  which  he  could  ne'er  forsake, 
Hung  half  before,  and  half  behind  his  back. 
He  trudged  along,  unknowing  what  he  sought. 
And  whistled  as  he  went  for  want  of  thought. 

By  chance  conducted,  or  by  thirst  constrain'd, 
The  deep  recesses  of  the  grove  he  gain'd ; 
Where  in  a  plain,  defended  by  the  wood, 
Crept  through  the  matted  grass  a  crystal  flood, 
By  which  an  alabaster  fountain  stood  ; 
And  on  the  margin  of  the  fount  was  laid 
(Attended  by  her  slaves)  a  sleeping  maid  : 
Like  Dian  and  her  nymphs,  when,  tired  with  sport, 
To  rest  by  cool  Eurotas  they)iresort : 
The  dame  herself  the  goddess  well  expressed, 
Not  more  distinguish'd  by  her  purple  vest. 
Than  by  the  charming  features  of  her  face, 
And,  even  in  slumber,  a  superior  grace : 


484  CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

Her  comely  limbs  composed  with  decent  care, 

Her  body  shaded  with  a  slight  cymar : 

Her  bosom  to  the  view  was  only  bare ; 

Where  two  beginning  paps  were  scarcely  spied, 

For  yet  their  places  were  but  signified. 

The  fanning  wind  upon  her  bosom  blows, 

To  meet  the  fanning  wind  the  bosom  rose ; 

The  fanning  wind,  and  purling  streams,  continue  her  repose. 

The  fool  of  nature  stood  with  stupid  eyes. 
And  gaping  mputh,  that  testified  surprise, 
Fix'd  on  her  face,  nor  could  remove  his  sight ; 
New  as  he  was  to  love,  and  novice  to  delight : 
Long  mute  he  stood,  and  leaning  on  his  staff, 
His  wonder  witnessed  with  an  idiot  laugh  ; 
Then  would  have  spoke,  but  by  his  glimmering  sense 
First  found  his  want  of  words,  and  fear'd  ofience ; 
Doubted  for  what  he  was  he  should  be  known, 
By  his  clown  accent,  and  his  country  tone. 

Through  the  rude  chaos  thus  the  running  light 
Shot  the  first  ray  that  pierced  the  native  night : 
Then  day  and  darkness  in  the  mass  were  mix'd. 
Till  gather'd  in  a  globe  the  beams  were  fix'd : 
Last  shone  the  sun,  who,  radiant  in  his  sphere, 
Illumined  heaven  and  earth,  and  roll'd  around  the  year. 
So  reason  in  this  brutal  soul  began  : 
Love  made  him  first  suspect  he  was  a  man ; 
Love  made  him  doubt  his  broad  barbarian  sound ; 
By  love  his  want  of  words,  and  wit,  he  found ; 
That  sense  of  want  prepared  the  future  way 
To  knowledge,  and  disclosed  the  promise  of  a  day. 

What  not  his  father's  care,  nor  tutor's  art, 
Could  plant  with  pains  in  his  unpolish'd  heart, 
The  best  instructor,  Love,*  at  once  inspired, 
As  barren  grounds  to  fruitfulness  are  fired  : 
Love  taught  him  shame,  and  shame,  with  love  at  strife^ 
Soon  taught  the  sweet  civilities  of  life. 
His  gross  material  soul  at  once  could  find 
Somewhat  in  her  excelling  all  her  kind ; 
Exciting  a  desire  till  then  unknown, 
Somewhat  unfound,  or  found  in  her  alone. 
This  made  the  first  impression  on  his  mind, 
Above,  but  just  above,  the  brutal  kind  : 
For  beasts  can  like,  but  not  distinguish  too, 
Nor  their  own  liking  by  reflection  know ; 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  435 

Nor  why  they  like  or  this  or  t'  other  face, 

Or  judge  of  this  or  that  peculiar  grace ; 

But  love  in  gross,  and  stupidly  admire ; 

As  flies,  allured  by  light,  approach  the  fire. 

Thus  our  man-beast,  advancing  by  degrees, 

First  likes  the  whole,  then  separates  what  he  sees  ; 

On  several  parts  a  several  praise  bestows, 

The  ruby  lips,  the  well-proportion'd  nose, 

The  snowy  skin,  and  raven-glossy  hair. 

The  dimpled  cheek,  and  forehead  rising  fair, 

And  even  in  sleep  itself,  a  smiling  air. 

From  thence  his  eyes  descending  view'd  the  rest, 

Her  plump  round  arms,  white  hands,  and  heaving  breast. 

Long  on  the  last  he  dwelt,  though  every  part 

A  pointed  arrow  sped  to  pierce  his  heart. 

Thus  in  a  trice  a  judge  of  beauty  grown, 
(A  judge  erected  from  a  country  clown) 
He  long'd  to  see  her  eyes,  in  slumber  hid, 
And  wish'd  his  own  could  pierce  within  the  lid  : 
He  would  have  waked  her,  but  restrained  his  thought, 
And  Love,  new-born,  the  first  good  manners  taught. 
An  awful  fear  his  ardent  wish  withstood, 
Nor  durst  disturb  the  goddess  of  the  wood. 
For  such  she  seem'd  by  her  celestial  face. 
Excelling  all  the  rest  of  human  race : 
And  things  divine,  by  common  sense  he  knew. 
Must  be  devoutly  seen,  at  distant  view. 
So  checking  his  desire,  with  trembling  heart 
Gazing  he  stood,  nor  would  nor  could  depart ; 
Fix'd  as  a  pilgrim  wilder'd  in  his  way. 
Who  dares  not  stir  by  night  for  fear  to  stray. 
But  stands  with  awful  eyes  to  watch  the  dawn  of  day. 

At  length  awaking,  Iphigene  the  fair, 
(So  was  the  beauty  call'd,  who  caused  his  care,) 
Unclosed  her  eyes,  and  double  day  reveal'd, 
While  those  of  all  her  slaves  in  sleep  were  seal'd. 
The  slavering  cudden,  propp'd  upon  his  staff. 
Stood  ready  gaping  with  a  grinning  laugh, 
To  welcome  her  awake,  nor  durst  begin 
To  speak,  but  wisely  kept  the  fool  within. 
Then  she : — What  make  you,  Cymon,  here  alone  1 
(For  Cymon's  name  was  round  the  country  knowi^ 
Because  descended  of  a  noble  race. 
And  for  a  soul  ill  sorted  with  his  face.) 


436  CYMON  AND  IPHIQENIA. 

But  still  the  sot  stood  silent  with  surprise, 
With  tix'd  regard  on  her  new-open'd  eyes, 
And  in  his  breast  received  the  envenom'd  dart, 
A  tickling  pain  that  pleased  amid  the  smart. 
But  conscious  of  her  form,  with  quick  distrust 
She  saw  his  sparkling  eyes,  and  fear'd  his  brutal  lust. 
This  to  prevent,  she  waked  her  sleepy  crew. 
And  rising  hasty,  took  a  short  adieu. 

Then  Cymon  first  his  rustic  voice  essay'd, 
With  proffered  service  to  the  parting  maid 
To  see  her  safe ;  his  hand  she  long  denied, 
But  took  at  length,  ashamed  of  such  a  guide. 
So  Cymon  led  her  home,  and  leaving  there. 
No  more  would  to  his  country  clowns  repair, 
But  sought  his  father's  house,  with  better  mind. 
Refusing  in  the  farm  to  be  confined. 

The  father  wonder'd  at  the  son's  return. 
And  knew  not  whether  to  rejoice  or  mourn ; 
But  doubtfully  received,  expecting  still 
To  learn  the  secret  causes  of  his  alter'd  wilL 
Nor  was  he  long  delay'd  :  the  first  request 
He  made,  was,  like  his  brothers  to  be  dress'd, 

And,  as  his  birth  required,  above  the  rest. 
With  ease  his  suit  was  granted  by  his  sire, 

Distinguishing  his  heir  by  rich  attire. 

His  body  thus  adorn'd,  he  next  designed 

With  liberal  arts  to  cultivate  his  mind : 

He  sought  a  tutor  of  his  own  accord. 

And  studied  lessons  he  before  abhorr'd. 
Thus  the  man-child  advanced,  and  learn'd  so  fast> 

That  in  short  time  his  equals  he  surpassed  : 

His  brutal  manners  from  his  breast  exiled, 

His  mien  he  fashion'd,  and  his  tongue  he  filed ; 

In  every  exercise  of  all  admired, 

He  seem'd,  nor  only  seem'd,  but  was  inspired : 

Inspired  by  love,  whose  business  is  to  please ; 

He  rode,  he  fenced,  he  moved  with  graceful  ease, 

More  famed  for  sense,  for  courtly  carriage  more. 

Than  for  his  brutal  folly  known  before. 
What  then  of  alter'd  Cymon  shall  we  say. 

But  that  the  fire  which  choked  in  ashes  lay, 

A  load  too  heavy  for  his  soul  to  move, 

Waa  upward  blown  below,  and  brush'd  away  by  love. 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  437 

Love  made  an  active  progress  through  his  mind. 

The  dusky  parts  he  clear'd,  the  gross  refined, 

The  drowsy  waked  ;  and,  as  he  went,  impress'd 

The  Maker's  image  on  the  human  breast. 

Thus  was  the  man  amended  by  desire, 

And  though  he  loved  perhaps  with  too  much  fire, 

His  father  all  his  faults  with  reason  scann'd, 

And  liked  an  error  of  the  better  hand  ; 

Excused  the  exccvss  of  passion  in  his  mind. 

By  flames  too  fierce,  perhaps  too  much  refined. 

So  Cymon,  since  his  sire  indulged  his  will. 

Impetuous  loved,  and  would  be  Cymon  still ; 

Galesus  he  disown VI,  and  chose  to  bear 

The  name  of  fool  confirm'd,  and  bishop'd  by  the  fair. 

To  Cipseus  by  his  friends  his  suit  he  moved ; 
Cipseus  the  father  of  the  fair  he  loved : 
But  he  was  pre-engaged  by  former  ties, 
While  Cymon  was  endeavouring  to  be  wise : 
And  Iphigene,  obliged  by  former  vows. 
Had  given  her  faith  to  wed  a  foreign  spouse. 
Her  sire  and  she  to  Rhodian  Pasimoud, 
Though  both  repenting,  were  by  promise  bound, 
Nor  could  retract ;  and  thus,  as  fate  decreed, 
Though  better  loved,  he  spoke  too  late  to  speed. 

The  doom  was  past,  the  ship  already  sent 
Did  all  his  tardy  diligence  prevent : 
Sigh'd  to  herself  the  fair  unhappy  maid, 
While  stormy  Cymon  thus  in  secret  said : 
The  time  is  come  for  Iphigene  to  find 
The  miracle  she  wrought  upon  my  mind  : 
Her  charms  have  made  me  man,  her  ravish'd  love 
In  rank  shall  place  me  with  the  bless'd  above ; 
For  mine  by  love,  by  force  she  shall  be  mine. 
Or  death,  if  force  should  fail,  shall  finish  my  desigi^. 

Resolved  he  said  ;  and  riggd  with  speedy  care 
A  vessel  strong,  and  well  equipp'd  for  war. 
The  secret  ship  with  chosen  friends  he  stored ; 
And  bent  to  die,  or  conquer,  went  aboard. 
Ambush'd  he  lay  behind  the  Cyprian  shore^ 
Waiting  the  sail  that  all  his  wishes  bore  ; 
Nor  long  expected,  for  the  following  tide 
Sent  out  the  hostile  ship  and  beauteous  bride. 

To  Rhodes  the  rival  bark  directly  steer'd. 
When  Cymon  sudden  at  her  back  appeared, 
%  39 


438  CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

And  stopped  her  flight :  then  standing  on  his  prow 

In  haughty  terms  he  thus  defied  the  foe  : — 

Or  strike  your  sails  at  summons,  or  prepare 

To  prove  the  last  extremities  of  war. 

Thus  warn'd,  the  Ehodians  for  the  fight  provide  ; 

Already  were  the  vessels  side  by  side, 

These  obstinate  to  save,  and  those  to  seize  the  bride. 

But  Cymon  soon  his  crooked  grapples  cast, 

Which  with  tenacious  hold  his  foes  embraced, 

And,  arm'd  with  sword  and  shield,  amid  the  press  he  pass'd 

Fierce  was  the  fight,  but  hastening  to  his  prey. 

By  force  the  furious  lover  freed  his  way : 

Himself  alone  dispersed  the  Bhodian  crew, 

The  weak  disdained,  the  valiant  overthrew  ; 

Cheap  conquest  for  his  following  friends  remained, 

He  reap'd  the  field,  and  they  but  only  glean'd. 

His  victory  confess'd,  the  foes  retreat. 
And  cast  their  weapons  at  the  victor's  feet. 
Whom  thus  he  cheer'd  :  0  Khodian  youth,  I  fought 
For  love  alone,  nor  other  booty  sought ; 
Your  lives  are  safe  ;  your  vessel  I  resign, 
Yours  be  your  own,  restoring  what  is  mine. 
In  Iphigene  I  claim  my  rightful  due, 
Robb'd  by  my  rival,  and  detain'd  by  you  : 
Your  Pasimond  a  lawless  bargain  drove  ; 
The  parent  could  not  sell  the  daughter's  love ; 
Or  if  he  could,  my  love  disdains  the  laws. 
And  like  a  king  by  conquest  gains  his  cause  : 
Where  arms  take  place,  all  other  pleas  are  vain  ; 
Love  taught  me  force,  and  force  shall  love  maintain. 
You,  what  by  strength  you  could  not  keep,  release  ; 
And  at  an  easy  ransom  buy  your  peace. 

Fear  -on  the  conquer'd  side  soon  sign'd  the  accord, 
And  Iphigene  to  Cymon  was  restored  : 
While  to  his  arms  the  blushing  bride  he  took, 
To  seeming  sadness  she  composed  her  look. 
As  if  by  force  subjected  to  his  will ; 
Though  pleased,  dissembling,  and  a  woman  still. 
And,  (for  she  wept,)  he  wiped  her  falling  tears, 
And  pray'd  her  to  dismiss  her  empty  fears  ; 
For  yours  I  am,  he  said,  and  have  deserved 
Your  love  much  better,  whom  so  long  I  served, 
Than  he  to  whom  your  formal  father  tied 
Your  vows ;  and  sold  a  slave,  not  sent  a  bride. 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  439 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  he  seized  the  willing  prey, 
As  Paris  bore  the  Spartan  spouse  away. 
Faintly  she  scream'd,  and  even  her  eyes  confess'd 
She  rather  would  be  thought,  than  was,  distressed. 

Who  now  exults  but  Cymon  in  his  mind  ? 
Vain  hopes  and  empty  joys  of  human  kind, 
Proud  of  the  present,  to  the  future  bhnd  ! 
Secure  of  fate,  while  Cymon  ploughs  the  sea, 
And  steers  to  Candy  with  his  conquer'd  prey, 
Scarce  the  third  glass  of  measured  hours  was  run. 
When  like  a  fiery  meteor  sunk  the  sun  ; 
The  promise  of  a  storm  ;  the  shifting  gales 
Forsake,  by  fits,  and  fill,  the  flagging  sails  : 
Hoarse  murmurs  of  the  main  from  far  were  heard 
And  night  came  on,  not  by  degrees  prepared, 
But  all  at  once  ;  at  once  the  winds  arise, 
The  thunders  roll,  the  forky  lightning  flies. 
In  vain  the  master  issues  out  commands, 
In  vain  the  trembling  sailors  ply  their  hands  : 
The  tempest  unfoteseen  prevents  their  care. 
And  from  the  first  they  labour  in  despair. 
The  giddy  ship  betwixt  the  wiods  and  tides, 
Forced  back  and  forwards,  in  a  circle  rides, 
Stunn'd  with  the  difierent  blows  ;  then  shoots  amain, 
Till  counterbuff"  d,  she  stops,  and  sleeps  again. 

Not  more  aghast  the  proud  archangel  fell, 
Plunged  from  the  height  of  heaven  to  deepest  hell. 
Than  stood  the  lover  of  his  love  possess  d. 
Now  cursed  the  more,  the  more  he  had  been  bless 'd  ; 
More  anxious  for  her  danger,  than  his  own, 
Death  he  defies,  but  would  be  lost  alone. 

Sad  Iphigene  to  womanish  complaints 
Adds  pious  prayers,  and  wearies  all  the  saints  ; 
Even,  if  she  could,  her  love  she  would  repent, 
But  since  she  cannot,  dreads  the  punishment : 
Her  forfeit  faith,  and  Pasimond  betray'd. 
Are  ever  present,  and  her  crime  upbraid. 
She  blames  herself,  nor  blames  her  lover  less, 
Augments  her  anger,  as  her  fears  increase  ; 
From  her  own  back  the  burden  would  remove, 
And  lays  the  load  on  his  ungovern'd  love. 
Which  interposing  durst,  in  Heaven's  despite. 
Invade  and  violate  another's  right : 


440  CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

The  Powers  incensed,  a  while  deferr'd  his  pain, 
And  made  him  master  of  his  vows  in  vain  : 
But  soon  they  punished  his  presumptuous  pride ; 
That  for  his  daring  enterprise  she  died, 
Who  rather  not  resisted  than  complied. 

Then  impotent  of  mind,  with  alter' d  sense, 
She  hugg'd  the  offender,  and  forgave  the  i  )ffence ; 
Sex  to  the  last.    Meantime  with  sails  declined 
The  wandering  vessel  drove  before  the  wind  ; 
Toss'd  and  retoss'd,  aloft,  and  then  alow. 
Nor  port  they  seek,  nor  certain  course  they  know. 
But  every  moment  wait  the  coming  blow. 
Thus  bhndly  driven,  by  breaking  day  they  view'd 
The  land  before  them,  and  their  foars  renew'd ; 
The  land  was  welcome,  but  the  tempest  bore 
The  threaten'd  ship  against  a  rocky  shore. 
A  winding  bay  was  near  ;  to  this  they  bent, 
And  just  escaped  ;  their  force  already  spent : 
Secure  from  storms,  and  panting  from  the  sea, 
The  land  unknown  at  leisure  they  surv*ey ; 
And  saw  (but  soon  their  sickly  sight  withdrew) 
The  rising  towers  of  Rhodes  at  distant  view  ; 
And  cursed  the  hostile  shore  of  Pasimond, 
Saved  from  the  seas,  and  shipwreck'd  on  the  ground. 

The  frighted  sailors  tried  their  strength  in  vain, 
To  turn  the  stern,  and  tempt  the  stormy  main  ; 
But  the  stiff  wind  withstood  the  labouring  oar, 
And  forced  them  forward  on  the  fatal  shore ! 
The  crooked  keel  now  bites  the  Khodian  strand, 
And  the  ship  moor'd,  constrains  the  crew  to  land 
Yet  still  they  might  be  safe,  because  unknown ; 
But,  as  ill  fortune  seldom  comes  alone. 
The  vessel  they  dismiss'd  was  driven  before, 
Already  shelter'd  on  their  native  shore  ; 
Known  each,  they  know ;    but   each  with  change   of 

cheer ; 
The  vanquished  side  exults  ;  the  victors  fear 
Not  them  but  theirs,  made  prisoners  ere  they  fight. 
Despairing  conquest,  and  deprived  of  flight. 

The  country  rings  around  with  loud  alarms, 
4tnd  raw  in  fields  the  rude  militia  swarms  ; 
Mouths  without  hands  ;  maintain'd  at  vast  expense^ 
In  peace  a  charge,  in  war  a  weak  defence : 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  441 

Stout  once  a  month  they  march,  a  blustering  band, 

And  ever,  but  in  times  of  need,  at  hand. 

This  was  the  morn,  when,  issuing  on  the  guard, 

Drawn  up  in  rank  and  file  they  stood  prepared 

Of  seeming  arms  to  make  a  short  essay. 

Then  hasten  to  be  drunk,  the  business  of  the  day. 

The  cowards  would  have  fled,  but  that  they  knew 
Themselves  so  many,  and  their  foes  so  few  ; 
But,  crowding  on,  the  last  the  first  impel ; 
Till  overborne  with  weight  the  Cyprians  felL 
Cymon  enslaved,  who  first  the  war  begun, 
Ajid  Iphigene  once  more  is  lost  and  won. 

Deep  in  a  dungeon  was  the  captive  cast, 
Deprived  of  day,  and  held  in  fetters  fast ; 
His  life  was  only  spared  at  their  request, 
Whom  taken  he  so  nobly  had  released : 
But  Iphigenia  was  the  ladies'  care, 
Each  in  their  turn  address'd  to  treat  the  fair ; 
While  Pasimond  and  his  the  nuptial  feast  prepare. 

Jler  secret  soul  to  Cymon  was  inclined, 
But  she  must  suffer  what  her  fates  assigned ; 
So  passive  is  the  church  of  womankind  ! 
What  worse  to  Cymon  could  his  fortune  deal, 
Roird  to  the  lowest  spoke  of  all  her  wheel  ? 
It  rested  to  dismiss  the  downward  weight, 
Or  raise  him  upward  to  his  former  height ; 
The  latter  pleased  ;  and  love  (concern'd  the  most) 
Prepared  the  amends  for  what  by  love  he  lost. 

The  sire  of  Pasimond  had  left  a  son, 
Though  younger,  yet  for  courage  early  known, 
Ormisda  call'd  ;  to  whom  by  promise  tied, 
A  Bhodian  beauty  was  the  destined  bride ; 
Cassandra  was  her  name ;  above  the  rest 
Renowned  for  birth,  with  fortune  amply  bless*d. 
Lysimachus,  who  ruled  the  Rhodian  state, 
Was  then  by  choice  their  annual  magistrate : 
He  loved  Cassandra  too  with  equal  fire, 
But  fortune  had  not  favour'd  his  desire ; 
Cross' d  by  her  friends,  by  her  not  disapproved. 
Nor  yet  preferr  d,  or  hke  Ormisda  loved  : 
So  stood  the  afiair :  some  little  hope  remain'd. 
That  should  his  rival  chance  to  lose,  he  gain'd. 

Meantime  young  Pasimond  his  marriage  pressed, 
Ordain'd  the  nuptial  day,  prepared  the  feast ; 
39* 


442  CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA. 

And  frugally  resolved  (the  charge  to  shun, 
Which  would  be  double  should  he  wed  alone) 
To  join  his  brother's  bridal  with  his  own. 

Lysimachus,  oppress'd  with  mortal  grief, 
Received  the  news,  and  studied  quick  relief. 
The  fatal  day  approach'd  ;  if  force  were  used,     • 
The  magistrate  his  public  trust  abused  ; 
To  justice  liable,  as  law  required  ; 
For  when  his  office  ceased,  his  power  expired : 
While  power  remain'd,  the  means  were  in  his  hand 
By  force  to  seize,  and  then  forsake  the  land. 
Betwixt  extremes  he  knew  not  how  to  move, 
A  slave  to  fame,  but  more  a  slave  to  love : 
Restraining  others,  yet  himself  not  free, 
Made  impotent  by  power,  debased  by  dignity. 
Both  sides  he  weighed  :  but  after  much  debate. 
The  man  prevail' d  above  the  magistrate. 

Love  never  fails  to  master  what  he  finds. 
But  works  a  different  way  in  different  minds, 
The  fool  enhghtens,  and  the  wise  he  blinds. 
This  youth  proposing  to  possess  and  'scape, 
Began  in  murder,  to  conclude  in  rape  : 
Unpraised  by  me,  though  Heaven  sometimes  may  bless 
An  impious  act  with  undeserved  success  : 
The  great,  it  seems,  are  privileged  alone 
To  punish  all  injustice  but  their  own. 
But  here  I  stop,  not  daring  to  proceed. 
Yet  blush  to  flatter  an  unrighteous  deed : 
For  crimes  are  but  permitted,  not  decreed. 

Resolved  on  force,  his  wit  the  prsetor  bent, 
To  find  the  means  that  might  secure  the  event ; 
Nor  long  he  laboured,  for  his  lucky  thought 
In  captive  Cymon  found  the  friend  he  sought. 
The  example  pleased :  the  cause  and  crime  the  same  ; 
An  injured  lover,  and  a  ravish' d  dame. 
How  much  he  durst  he  knew  by  what  he  dared, 
The  less  he  had  to  lose,  the  less  he  cared 
To  manage  loathsome  life,  when  love  was  the  reward. 

This  ponder'd  well,  and  fix'd  on  his  intent. 
In  depth  of  night  he  for  the  prisoner  sent ; 
In  secret  sent  the  public  view  to  shun. 
Then  with  a  sober  smile  he  thus  begun  : 
The  Powers  above,  who  bounteously  bestow 
Their  gifts  and  graces  on  mankind  below, 


CYMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  443 

Yet  prove  our  merit  first ;  nor  blindly  give 

To  such  as  are  not  worthy  to  receive  : 

For  valour  and  for  virtue  they  provide 

Their  due  reward,  but  first  they  must  be  tried.  . 

These  fruitful  seeds  within  your  mind  they  sow'd, 

'Twas  yours  to  improve  the  talent  they  bestow'd ; 

They  gave  you  to  be  born  of  noble  kind, 

They  gave  you  love  to  lighten  up  your  mind, 

And  purge  the  grosser  parts  :  they  gave  you  care 

To  please,  and  courage  to  deserve  the  fair. 

Thus  far  they  tried  yOu,  and  by  proof  they  found 
The  grain  entrusted  in  a  grateful  ground : 
But  still  the  great  experiment  remain' d. 
They  sufier'd  you  to  lose  the  prize  you  gain'd ; 
That  you  might  learn  the  gift  was  theirs  alone : 
And  when  restored,  to  them  the  blessing  own. 
Restored  it  soon  will  be ;  the  means  prepared, 
The  difficulty  smoothed,  the  danger  shared : 
Be  but  yourself,  the  care  to  me  resign. 
Then  Iphigene  is  yours,  Cassandra  mine. 
Your  rival  Pasimond  pursues  your  life, 
Impatient  to  revenge  his  ravish'd  wife, 
But  yet  not  his  ;  to-morrow  is  behind. 
And  Love  our  fortunes  in  one  band  has  join'd : 
Two  brothers  are  our  foes  ;  Ormisda  mine, 
As  much  declared,  as  Pasimond  is  thine  : 
To-morrow  must  their  common  vows  be  tied ; 
With  love  to  friend,  and  fortune  for  our  guide, 
Let  both  resolve  to  die,  or  each  redeem  a  bride. 

Right  I  have  none,  nor  hast  thou  much  to  plead ; 
'Tis  force,  when  done,  must  justify  the  deed  : 
Our  task  perform'd,  we  next  prepare  for  flight ; 
And  let  the  losers  talk  in  vain  of  right : 
"We  with  the  fair  will  sail  before  the  wind, 
If  they  are  grieved,  I  leave  the  laws  behind. 
Speak  thy  resolves  ;  if  now  thy  courage  droop, 
Despair  in  prison,  and  abandon  hope ; 
But  if  thou  dar'st  in  arms  thy  love  regain, 
(For  liberty  without  thy  love  were  vain) 
Then  second  my  design  to  seize  the  prey : 
Or  lead  to  second  rape,  for  well   thou  know'st  the 
way. 

Said  Cymon  overjoy'd.  Do  thou  propose 
The  means  to  fight,  and  only  show  the  foes : 


444  CYMON   AND   IPHIGBNiA. 

For  from  the  first,  when  love  had  fired  my  mind, 
Besolved  I  left  the  care  of  life  behind. 

To  this  the  bold  Lysimachus  replied, 
Let  Heaven  be  neuter,  and  the  sword  decide ; 
The  spousals  are  prepared,  already  play 
The  minstrels,  and  provoke  the  tardy  day : 
By  this,  the  brides  are  waked,  their  grooms  are  dress'd ; 
All  Rhodes  is  summon'd  to  the  nuptial  feast, 
All  but  myself,  the  sole  unbidden  guest. 
Unbidden  though  I  am,  I  will  be  there. 
And,  join'd  by  thee,  intend  to  joy  the  fair. 

Now  hear  the  rest ;  when  day  resigns  the  light, 
And  cheerful  torches  gild  the  jolly  night, 
Be  ready  at  my  call ;  my  chosen  few 
With  arms  administer'd  shall  aid  thy  crew. 
Then  entering  unexpected  will  we  seize 
Our  destin'd  prey,  from  men  dissolved  in  ease, 
By  wine  disabled,  unprepared  for  fight ; 
And  hastening  to  the  seas,  suborn  our  flight : 
The  seas  are  ours,  for  I  command  the  fort, 
A  ship  well  mann'd  expects  us  in  the  port : 
If  they,  or  if  their  friends,  the  prize  contest. 
Death  shall  attend  the  man  who  dares  resist. 

It  pleased  !  the  prisoner  to  his  hold  retired, 
His  troop  with  equal  emulation  fired. 
All  fix'd  to  fight,  and  all  their  wonted  work  required. 

The  sun  arose ;  the  streets  were  throng'd  around, 
The  palace  open'd,  and  the  posts  were  crown' d : 
The  double  bridegroom  at  the  door  attends 
The  expected  spouse,  and  entertains  the  friends. 
They  meet,  they  lead  to  church  ;  the  priests  invoke 
The  Powers,  and  feed  the  flames  with  fragrant  smoke. 
This  done,  they  feast ;  and  at  the  close  of  night 
By  kindled  torches  vary  their  delight, 
These  lead  the  lively  dance,  and  those  the  brimming  bowls 
invite. 

Now,  at  the  appointed  place  and  hour  assign'd, 
With  souls  resolved  the  ravishers  were  join'd. 
Three  bands  are  formed  :  the  first  is  sent  before 
To  favour  the  retreat,  and  guard  the  shore ; 
The  second  at  the  palace-gate  is  placed. 
And  up  the  lofty  stairs  ascend  the  last : 
A  peaceful  troop  they  seem  with  shining  vests. 
But  coats  of  mail  beneath  secure  their  breasts. 


CTMON  AND  IPHIGENIA.  445 

Dauntless  they  enter,  Cymon  at  their  head, 
And  find  the  feast  renew'd,  the  table  spread : 
Sweet  voices,  mix'd  with  instrumental  sounds. 
Ascend  the  vaulted  roof,  the  vaulted  roof  rebounds  : 
When,  like  the  harpies,  rushing  through  the  hall 
The  sudden  troop  appears,  the  tables  fall, 
Their  smoking  load  is  on  the  pavement  thrown  ; 
Each  ravisher  prepares  to  seize  his  own  : 
The  brides,  invaded  with  a  rude  embrace, 
Shriek  out  for  aid,  confusion  fills  the  place : 
Quick  to  redeem  the  prey  their  plighted  lords 
Advance,  the  palace  gleams  with  shining  swords. 

But  late  is  all  defence,  and  succour  vain ; 
The  rape  is  made,  the  ravishers  remain  : 
Two  sturdy  slaves  were  only  sent  before, 
To  bear  the  purchased  prize  in  safety  to  the  shore. 
The  troop  retires,  the  lovers  close  the  rear, 
With  forward  faces  not  confessing  fear  : 
Backward  they  move,  but  scorn  their  pace  to  mend  ; 
Then  seek  the  stairs,  and  with  slow  haste  descend. 

Fierce  Pasimond,  their  passage  to  prevent, 
Thrust  full  on  Cymon's  back  in  his  descent ; 
The  blade  retum'd  unbathed,  and  to  the  handle  bent : 
Stout  Cymon  soon  reniounts,  and  cleft  in  two 
His  rival's  head  with  one  descending  blow : 
And  as  '.he  next  in  rank  Ormisda  stood, 
He  turn'd  the  point ;  the  sword,  inured  to  blood, 
Bored  his  unguarded  breast,  which  pour'd  a  purple  flood. 

With  vow'd  revenge  the  gathering  crowd  pursues, 
The  ravishers  turn  head,  the  fight  renews  ; 
The  hall  is  heap'd  with  corpse  ;  the  sprinkled  gore 
Besmears  the  walls,  and  floats  the  marble  floor. 
Dispersed  at  length  the  drunken  squadron  flies, 
The  victors  to  their  vessel  bear  the  prize, 
And  hear  behind  loud  groans,  and  lamentable  cries. 

The  crew  with  merry  shouts  their  anchors  weigh, 
Then  ply  their  oars,  and  brush  the  buxom  sea  ; 
While  troops  of  gather'd  Rhodians  crowd  the  quay. 
What  should  the  people  do  when  left  alone  ? 
The  governor  and  government  are  gone. 
The  public  wealth  to  foreign  parts  conveyed ; 
Some  troops  disbanded,  and  the  rest  unpaid. 
Bhodes  the  sovereign  of  the  seas  no  more ; 
Their  ships  unrigg'd,  and  spent  their  naval  store; 


446  CTMON  AND  IPHiaENIA. 

They  neither  could  defend,  nor  can  pursue, 

But  grind  their  teeth,  and  cast  a  helpless  view :  ^,^ 

In  vain  with  darts  a  distant  war  they  try ;  mM 

Short,  and  more  short,  the  missive  weapons  fly.  '     ^ 

Meanwhile  the  ravishers  their  crimes  enjoy, 

4pid  flying  sails  and  sweeping  oars  employ ; 

The  clifis  of  Khodes  in  httle  space  are  lost, 

Jove's  isle  they  seek,  nor  Jove  denies  his  coast. 

In  safety  landed  on  the  Candian  shore, 
With  generous  wines  their  spirits  they  restore : 
There  Cymon  with  his  Ehodian  friend  resides ; 
Both  court,  and  wed,  at  once  the  willing  brides. 
A  war  ensues,  the  Cretans  own  their  cause, 
Stifi"  to  defend  their  hospitable  law?  : 
Both  parties  lose  by  turns  ;  and  neither  wins, 
Till  peace  propounded  by  a  truce  begins. 
The  kindred  of  the  slain  forgive  the  deed, 
But  a  short  exile  must  for  show  precede ; 
The  term  expired,  from  Candia  they  remove, 
And  happy  each,  at  home,  enjoys  his  love.    -^ 


447 


PEOLOGUES  AND  EPILOGUES. 


TO  "  THE  KIVAL  LADIES;' 

'TIS  mucli  desired,  you  judges  of  the  town 
Would  pass  a  vote  to  put  all  prologues  down ; 
For  who  can  show  me,  since  they  first  were  writ, 
They  e'er  converted  one  hard-hearted  wit  ? 
Yet  the  world's  mended  well ;  in  former  days 
Good  prologues  were  as  scarce  as  now  good  plays. 
For  the  reforming  poets  of  our  age. 
In  this  first  charge,  spend  their  poetic  rage  : 
Expect  no  more  when  once  the  prologue's  done ; 
The  wit  is  ended  ere  the  play 's  begun. 
You  now  have  habits,  dances,  scenes,  and  rhymes  ; 
High  language  often  ;  ay,  and  sense,  sometimes. 
As  for  a  clear  contrivance,  doubt  it  not  ; 
They  blow  out  candles  to  give  light  to  th'  plot. 
And  for  surprise,  two  bloody-minded  men 
Fight  till  they  die,  then  rise  and  dance  again. 
Such  deep  intrigues  you're  welcome  to  this  day  : 
But  blame  yourselves,  not  him  who  writ  the  play ; 
Though  his  plot 's  dull,  as  can  be  well  desired, 
^Wit  stiff  as  any  you  have  e'er  admired  : 
He's  bound  to  please,  not  to  write  well ;  and  knows, 
There  is  a  mode  in  plays  as  well  as  clothes ; 
Therefore,  kind  judges 

A  SECOND  PROLOGUE  ENTERS. 

2.  Hold  ;  wauld  you  admit 

For  judges  all  you  see  within  the  pit  1 

1.  Whom  would  he  then  except,  or  on  what  score  ? 

2.  All  who  (like  him)  have  writ  ill  plays  before  ; 
For  they,  like  thieves  condemn'd,  are  hangmen  made, 
To  execute  the  members  of  their  trade. 

All  that  are  writing  now  he  would  disown, 
But  then  he  must  except — even  all  the  town ; 
All  choleric,  losing  gamesters,  who,  in  spite, 
Will  damn  to-day,  because  they  lost  last  night ; 


448  PROLOGUES. 

All  servants,  whom  their  mistress*  scorn  upbraids  ; 
All  maudlin  lovers,  and  all  slighted  maids  ; 
All,  who  are  out  of  humour,  or  severe  ; 
All,  that  want  wit,  or  hope  to  find  it  here. 


TO  "  THE  INDIAN  QUEEN." 

Ai  the  music  plays  a  soft  air,  the  curtain  rises  slowly,  and  discovers  an 
Indian  boy  and  girl  sleeping  under  two  plantain-trees  ;  and,  when  ttie 
curtain  is  almost  up,  the  mu.sic  tums  into  a  tune  expressing  an  alarm, 
at  which  the  boy  awakes,  and  speaks : 

BOY. 

"Wake,  wake,  Quevira  !  our  soft  rest  must  cease, 
And  tiy  together  with  our  country's  peace  ! 
No  more  must  we  sleep  under  plantain  shade. 
Which  neither  heat  could  pierce,  nor  cold  invade  ; 
Where  bounteous  nature  never  feels  decay. 
And  opening  buds  drive  falhng  fruits  away. 

QUEVIRA. 

Why  should  men  quarrel  here,  where  all  possess 
As  much  as  they  can  hope  for  by  success  ? — 
None  can  have  most,  where  nature  is  so  kind, 
As  to  exceed  man's  use,  though  not  his  mind. 

BOY. 

By  ancient  prophecies  we  have  been  told. 

Our  world  shall  be  subdued  by  one  more  old  ;— 

And,  see,  that  world  already 's  hither  come. 

QUEVIRA. 

If  those  be  they,  we  welcome  then  our  doom  ! 
Their  looks  are  such,  that  mercy  flows  from  thencej 
More  gentle  than  our  native  innocence. 

BOY. 

Why  should  we  then  fear  these,  our  enemies, 
That  rather  seem  to  us  hke  deities  ? 

QUEVIRA. 

By  their  protection,  let  us  beg  to  Hve  ; 
They  came  not  here  to  conquer,  but  forgive.— 
If  so,  your  goodness  may  your  power  express, 
Aud  we  shall  judge  both  best  by  our  success. 


PROLOGUES.  449 

TO  "  SIR  MARTIN  MARR-ALL." 

Fools,  which  each  man  meets  in  his  dish  each  day, 

Are  yet  the  great  regaiioa  of  a  play  ; 

In  which  to  poets  you  but  just  appear, 

To  prize  that  highest,  which  cost  them  so  dear : 

Fops  in  the  town  more  easily  will  pass  ; 

One  story  makes  a  statutable  ass  : 

But  such  in  plays  must  be  much  thicker  sown, 

Like  yolks  of  eggs,  a  dozen  beat  to  one. 

Observing  poets  all  their  walks  invade, 

As  men  watch  woodcocks  gliding  through  a  glade : 

And  when  they  have  enough  for  comedy. 

They  stow  their  several  bodies  in  a  pie : 

The  poet 's  but  the  cook  to  fashion  it, 

For  gallants,  you  yourselves  have  found  the  wit. 

To  bid  you  welcome,  would  your  bounty  wrong  ; 

None  welcome  those  who  bring  their  cheer  along. 


TO  «  THE  TEMPEST." 

As  when  a  tree's  cut  down,  the  secret  root 
Lives  under  ground,  and  thence  new  branches  shoot ; 
So  from  old  Shakspeare's  honoiar'd  dust,  this  day 
Springs  up  and  buds  a  new-reviving  play  : 
Shakspeare,  who  (taught  by  none)  did  first  impart 
To  Fletcher  wit — to  labouring  Jonson  art. 
He,  monarch-like,  gave  those,  his  subjects,  law  ; 
And  is  that  nature  which  they  paint  and  draw. 
Fletcher  reach'd  that  which  on  his  heights  did  grow, 
While  Jonson  crept,  and  gathered  all  below. 
This  did  his  love,  and  this  his  mirth,  digest : 
One  imitates  him  most,  the  other  best. 
If  they  have  since  outwrit  all  other  men, 
'Tis  with  the  drops  which  fell  from  Shakspeare's  pen. 
The  storm,  which  vanished  on  the  neighbouring  shore, 
Was  taught  by  Shakspeare's  Tempest  first  to  roar. 
That  innocence  and  beauty,  which  did  smile 
In  Fletcher,  grew  on  this  enchanted  isle. 
But  Shakspeare's  magic  could  not  copied  be ; 
Within  that  circle  none  durst  walk  but  he. 
40 


450  FBOLOGUES. 

I  must  confess  'twas  bold,  nor  would  you  now 

That  liberty  to  vulgar  wits  allow, 

"Which  works  by  magic  supernatural  things  : 

But  Shakspeare's  power  is  sacred  as  a  king's. 

Those  legends  from  old  priesthood  were  received. 

And  he  then  writ  as  people  then  believed. 

But  if  for  Shakspeare  we  your  grace  implore, 

We  for  our  theatre  shall  want  it  more  : 

"V^ho,  by  our  dearth  of  youths,  are  forced  to  emplo; 

One  of  our  women  to  present  a  boy  ; 

And  that's  a  transformation,  you  will  say, 

Exceeding  all  the  magic  in  the  play. 

Let  none  expect,  in  the  last  act,  to  find 

Her  sex  transform'd  from  man  to  woman-kind. 

Whate'er  she  was  before  the  play  began, 

All  you  shall  see  of  her  is  perfect  man. 

Or,  if  your  fancy  will  be  farther  led 

To  find  her  woman — it  must  be  a-bed. 


TO  «  TYRANNIC  LOVE." 

Self-love,  which,  never  rightly  understood. 
Makes  poets  still  conclude  their  plays  are  good, 
And  malice,  in  all  critics,  reigns  so  high, 
That  for  small  errors,  they  whole  plays  decry ; 
So  that  to  see  this  fondness,  and  that  spite. 
You'd  think  that  none  but  madmen  judge  or  write. 
Therefore  our  poet,  as  he  thinks  not  fit 
To  impose  upon  you  what  he  writes  for  wit ; 
So  hopes,  that,  leaving  you  your  censures  free, 
You  equal  judges  of  the  whole  will  be  : 
They  judge  but  half,  who  only  faults  will  see. 
Poets,  like  lovers,  should  be  bold  and  dare, 
They  spoil  their  business  with  an  over-care  ; 
Ajid  he,  who  ser^  lely  creeps  after  sense. 
Is  safe,  but  ne'er    'ill  reach  an  excellence. 
Hence  'tis,  our  poet,  in  his  conjuring, 
Allow'd  his  fancy  the  full  scope  and  swing. 
But  when  a  tyrant  for  his  thome  he  had, 
He  loosed  the  reins,  and  bid  his  muso  run 


PROLOGUES.  461 

And  though  he  stumbles  in  a  full  career, 

Yet  rashness  is  a  better  fault  than  fear. 

He  saw  his  way  ;  but  in  so  swift  a  pace, 

To  choose  the  ground  might  be  to  lose  the  race. 

They  then,  who  of  each  trip  the  advantage  take. 

Find  but  those  faults,  which  they  want  wit  to  make. 


SPOKEN  THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  KING'S  HOUSE 
ACTING  AFTER  THE  FIRE. 

So  shipwrecked  passengers  escape  to  land. 

So  look  they,  when  on  the  bare  beach  they  stand 

Dropping  and  cold,  and  their  first  fear  scarce  o'er,' 

Expecting  famine  on  a  desert  shore. 

From  that  hard  climate  we  must  wait  for  bread, 

Whence  e'en  the  natives,  forced  by  hunger,  fled. 

Our  stage  does  human  chance  present  to  view, 

But  ne'er  before  was  seen  so  sadly  true  : 

You  are  changed  too,  and  your  pretence  to  see 

Is  but  a  nobler  name  for  charity. 

Your  own  provisions  furnish  out  our  feasts. 

While  you  the  founders  make  yourselves  the  guests. 

Of  all  mankind  beside  fate  had  some  care. 

But  for  poor  Wit  no  portion  did  prepare, 

'Tis  left  a  rent-charge  to  the  brave  and  fair. 

You  cherish'd  it,  and  now  its  fall  you  mourn. 

Which  blind  unmanner'd  zealots  make  their  scorn, 

Who  think  that  fire  a  judgment  on  the  stage. 

Which  spared  not  temples  in  its  furious  rage. 

But  as  our  new-built  city  rises  higher. 

So  from  old  theatres  may  new  aspire. 

Since  fate  contrives  magnificence  by  fire. 

Our  great  metropolis  does  far  surpass 

Whate'er  is  now,  and  equals  all  that  wai» : 

Our  wit  as  far  does  foreign  wit  excel,    'H 

And,  like  a  king,  should  in  a  palace  dwT.  J. 

But  we  with  golden  hopes  are  vainly  fed, 

Talk  high,  and  entertain  you  in  a  shed  : 

Your  presence  here,  for  which  we  humbly  sue^^ 

Will  grace  old  theatres,  and  build  up  new. 


452  PROLOGUES. 


TO  "AMBOYNA." 

As  needy  gallants  in  the  scriveners'  hands, 

Court  the  rich  knave  that  gripes  their  mortgaged  lands, 

The  first  fat  buck  of  all  the  season  s  sent, 

And  keeper  takes  no  fee  in  compliment : 

The  dotage  of  some  Englishmen  is  such, 

To  fawn  on  those  who  ruin  them — ^the  Dutch. 

They  shaU  have  all,  rather  than  make  a  war 

With  those  who  of  the  same  religion  are. 

The  Straits,  the  Guinea  trade,  the  herrings  too, 

Nay,  to  keep  friendship,  they  shall  pickle  you. 

Some  are  resolved  not  to  find  out  the  cheat, 

But,  cuckold-like,  love  him  who  does  the  feat : 

What  injuries  soe'er  upon  us  fall, 

Yet,  still,  the  same  religion  answers  all : 

Eeligion  wheedled  you  to  civil  war, 

Drew  English  blood,  and  Dutchmen's  now  would  spare : 

Be  gull'd  no  longer,  for  you'll  find  it  true, 

They  have  no  more  religion,  faith — than  you  ; 

Interest's  the  god  they  worship  in  their  state; 

And  you,  I  take  it,  have  not  much  of  that. 

Well,  monarchies  may  own  religion's  name, 

But  states  are  atheists  in  their  very  frame. 

They  share  a  sin,  and  such  proportions  fall. 

That,  like  a  stink,  'tis  nothing  to  them  all. 

How  they  love  England,  you  shall  see  this  day ; 

No  map  shows  Holland  truer  than  our  play : 

Their  pictures  and  inscriptions  well  we  know; 

We  may  be  bold  one  medal  sure  to  show. 

View  then  their  falsehoods,  rapine,  cruelty  ; 

And  think  what  once  they  were,  they  still  would  be : 

But  hope  not  either  language,  plot,  or  art ; 

'Twas  writ  in  haste,  but  with  an  EngUsh  heart : 

And  least  hope  wit ;  in  Dutchmen  that  would  be 

As  much  improper,  as  would  honesty. 


PROLOGUES.  453 

SPOKEN  AT  THE  OPENING  OF  THE  NEW  HOXTSE, 
MARCH  26,  1674. 

A  PLAIN  built  house,  after  so  long  a  stay, 
Will  send  you  half  unsatisfied  away ; 
When,  fall'n  from  your  expected  pomp,  you  find 
A  bare  convenience  only  is  desfgn'd. 
You,  who  each  day  can  theatres  behold. 
Like  Nero's  palace,  shining  all  with  gold, 
Our  mean  ungilded  stage  will  scorn,  we  fear, 
And,  for  the  homely  room,  disdain  the  cheer. 
Yet  now  cheap  druggets  to  a  mode  are  grown. 
And  a  plain  suit,  since  we  can  make  but  one, 
Is  better  than  to  be  by  tarnish'd  gaudry  known. 
They,  who  are  by  your  favours  wealthy  made, 
With  mighty  sums  may  carry  on  the  trade  ; 
We,  broken  bankers,  half  destroyed  by  fire, 
With  our  small  stock  to  humble  roofs  retire : 
Pity  our  loss,  while  you  their  pomp  admire. 
For  fame  and  honour  we  no  longer  strive. 
We  yield  in  both,  and  only  beg  to  live  : 
Unable  to  support  their  vast  expense. 
Who  build  and  treat  with  such  magnificence  ; 
That,  like  the  ambitious  monarchs  of  the  age. 
They  give  the  law  to  our  provincial  stage. 
Great  neighbours  enviously  promote  excess. 
While  they  impose  their  splendour  on  the  less. 
But  only  fools,  and  they  of  vast  estate. 
The  extremity  of  modes  will  imitate. 
The  dangling  knee-fringe,  and  the  bib-cravat. 
Yet  if  some  pride  with  want  may  be  allowed. 
We  in  our  plainness  may  be  justly  proud  : 
Our  royal  master  will'd  it  should  be  so  ; 
Whate'er  he 's  pleased  to  own,  can  need  no  show : 
That  sacred  name  gives  ornament  and  grace, 
And,  Uke  his  stamp,  makes  basest  metals  pass. 
*Twere  folly  now  a  stately  pile  to  raise. 
To  build  a  playhouse  while  you  throw  down  plays, 
While  scenes,  ma,chines,  and  empty  operas  reign, 
And  for  the  pencil  you  the  pen  disdain : 
While  troops  of  famish'd  Frenchmen  hither  drive, 
And  laugh  at  those  upon  whose  alms  they  live : 
40* 


454  PROLOGUES. 

Old  English  authors  vanish  and  give  place 
To  these  new  conquerors  of  the  Norman  race. 
More  tamely  than  your  fathers  you  submit ; 
You're  now  grown  vassals  to  them  in  your  wit. 
Mark,  when  they  play,  how  our  fine  fops  advance 
The  mighty  merits  of  their  men  of  France, 
Keep  time,  cry  Bon  !  and  humour  the  cadence. 
Well,  please  yourselves ;  but  sure  'tis  understood, 
That  French  machines  have  ne'er  done  England  good. 
I  would  not  prophesy  our  house's  fate  : 
But  while  vain  shows  and  scenes  you  over-rate, 

'Tis  to  be  feared 

That  as  a  fire  the  former  l^puse  o'erthrew, 
Machines  and  tempests- wiU  destroy  the  new. 


TO  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD,  1674. 

SPOKEN  BY  MR.  HART. 

Poets,  your  subjects,  have,  their  parts  assign'd 

To  unbend,  and  to  divert  their  sovereign's  mind : 

When  tired  with  following  nature,  you  think  fit 

To  seek  repose  in  the  cool  shades  of  wit. 

And,  from  the  sweet  retreat,  with  joy  survey 

What  rests,  and  what  is  conquer' d,  of  the  way. 

Here,  free  yourselves  from  envy,  care,  and  strife, 

You  view  the  various  turns  of  human  life  : 

Safe  in  our  scene,  through  dangerous  courts  you  go, 

And,  undebauch'd,  the  vice  of  cities  know. 

Your  theories  are  here  to  practice  brought, 

As  in  mechanic  operations  wrought ; 

And  man,  the  little  world,  before  you  set. 

As  once  the  sphere  of  crystal  show'd  the  great. 

Blest  sure  are  you  above  all  mortal  kind, 

If  to  your  fortunes  you  can  suit  your  mind  : 

Content  to  see,  and  shun,  those  ills  we  show. 

And  crimes  on  theatres  alone  to  know. 

With  joy  we  bring  what  our  dead  authors  writ. 

And  beg  from  you  the  value  of  their  wit : 

That  Shakspeare's,  Fletcher's,  and  great  Jonson's  claim 

May  be  renew'd  from  those  who  gave  them  fame. 

None  of  our  living  poets  dare  appear ; 

For  muses  so  severe  are  worshipp'd  here, 


PROLOGUES.  455 

That,  conscious  of  their  faults,  they  shun  the  eye, 
And,  as  profane,  from  sacred  places  fly, 
Kather  than  see  the  offended  God,  and  die. 
We  bring  no  imperfections,  but  our  own ; 
Such  faults  as  made  are  by  the  makers  shown : 
And  you  have  been  so  kind,  that  we  may  boast, 
The  greatest  judges  still  can  pardon  most. 
Poets  may  stoop,  when  they  would  please  our  pit, 
Debased  even  to  the  level  of  their  wit ; 
Disdaining  that,  which  yet  they  know  will  take, 
Hating  themselves  what  their  applause  must  make. 
But  when  to  praise  from  you  they  would  aspire. 
Though  they  hke  eagles  mount,  your  Jove  is  higher. 
So  far  your  knowledge  all  their  power  transcends, 
As  what  should  be  beyond  what  is  extends. 


TO  "CIRCE." 

[by  dr.  davenant,  1675.] 

Were  you  but  half  so  wise  as  you  're  severe. 

Our  youthful  poet  should  not  need  to  fear  : 

To  his  green  years  your  censures  you  would  suit. 

Not  blast  the  blossom,  but  expect  the  fruit. 

The  sex,  that  best  does  pleasure  understand, 

Will  always  choose  to  err  on  f  other  hand. 

They  check  him  not  that 's  awkward  in  delight. 

But  clap  the  young  rogue's  cheek,  and  set  him  right. 

Thus  hearten'd  well,  and  flesh'd  upon  his  prey. 

The  youth  may  prove  a  man  another  day. 

Your  Ben  and  Fletcher,  in  their  first  young  flight. 

Did  no  Volpone,  nor  no  Arbaces  write ; 

But  hopp'd  about,  and  short  excursions  made 

From  bough  to  bough,  as  if  they  were  afraid, 

And  each  was  guilty  of  some  Slighted  Maid. 

Shakspeare's  own  Muse  her  Pericles  first  bore ; 

The  Prince  of  Tyre  was  elder  than  the  Moor : 

'Tis  miracle  to  see  a  first  good  play ; 

All  hawthorns  do  not  bloom  on  Christmas-day. 

A  slender  poet  must  have  time  to  grow. 

And  spread  and  burnish  as  his  brothers  do. 


456  PROLOGUES. 

Who  still  looks  lean,  sure  with  some  mark  is  cursed ; 
But  no  man  can  be  Falstaff-fat  at  first. 
Then  damn  not,  but  indulge  his  rude  essays, 
Encourage  him,  and  bloat  him  up  with  praise, 
That  he  may  get  more  bulk  before  he  dies  ; 
He 's  not  yet  fed  enough  for  sacrifice. 
Perhaps,  if  now  your  grace  you  will  not  grudge, 
He  may  grow  up  to  write,  and  you  to  judge. 


TO  "AURENGEZEBK" 

Our  author,  by  experience,  finds  it  true, 

'Tis  much  more  hard  to  please  himself  than  you ; 

And  out  of  no  feign'd  modesty,  this  day 

Damns  his  laborious  trifle  of  a  play: 

Not  that  it 's  worse  than  what  before  he  writ ; 

But  he  has  now  another  taste  of  wit ; 

And,  to  confess  a  truth,  though  out  of  time, 

Gi^ows  weary  of  his  long-loved  mistress^  Rhyme. 

Passion  *s  too  fierce  to  be  in  fetters  bound. 

And  nature  flies  him  like  enchanted  ground  : 

What  verse  can  do,  he  has  performed  in  this. 

Which  he  presumes  the  most  correct  of  his  ; 

But  spite  of  all  his  pride,  a  secret  shame 

Invades  his  breast  at  Shakspeare's  sacred  name : 

Awed  when  he  hears  his  god-like  Romans  rage, 

He,  in  a  just  despair,  would  quit  the  stage  ; 

And  to  an  age  less  polish'd,  more  unskill'd. 

Does,  with  disdain,  the  foremost  honours  yield. 

As  with  the  greater  dead  he  dares  not  strive, 

He  would  not  match  his  verse  with  those  who  live ; 

Let  him  retire,  betwixt  two  ages  cast, 

The  first  of  this,  and  hindmost  of  the  last. 

A  losing  gamester,  let  him  sneak  away ; 

He  bears  no  ready  money  from  the  play. 

The  fate,  which  governs  poets,  thought  it  fit 

He  should  not  raise  his  fortunes  by  his  wit. 

The  clergy  thrive,  and  the  litigious  bar  ; 

DuU  heroes  fatten  with  the  spoils  of  war  ; 

All  southern  vices.  Heaven  be  praised,  are  here ; 

But  wit  *s  a  luxury  you  think  too  dear. 


PROLOGUES.  457 

When  you  to  cultivate  the  plant  are  loth, 
'Tis  a  shrewd  sign  'twas  never  of  your  growth  ; 
And  wit  in  northern  climates  will  not  blow, 
Except,  like  orange-trees,  'tis  housed  from  snow. 
There  needs  no  care  to  put  a  playhouse  down, 
*Tis  the  most  desert  place  of  all  the  town : 
We  and  our  neighbours,  to  speak  proudly,  are, 
Like  monarchs,  ruin'd  with  expensive  war ; 
While,  like  wise  English,  unconoern'd  you  sit, 
And  see  us  play  the  tragedy  of  wit. 


TO  "LIMBERHAM." 

True  wit  has  seen  its  best  days  long  ago  ; 

It  ne'er  look'd  up,  since  we  were  dipp'd  in  show  ; 

When  sense  in  doggrel  rhymes  and  clouds  was  lost, 

And  dulness  flourish'd  at  the  actor's  cost. 

Nor  stopp'd  it  here  ;  when  tragedy  was  done, 

Satire  and  humour  the  same  fate  have  run, 

And  comedy  is  sunk  to  trick  and  pun. 

Now  our  machining  lumber  will  not  sell, 

And  you  no  longer  care  for  heaven  or  hell ; 

What  stuff  can  please  you  next,  the  Lord  can  telL 

Let  them,  who  the  rebellion  first  began 

To  wit,  restore  the  monarch,  if  they  can  ; 

Our  author  dares  not  be  the  first  bold  man. 

He,  like  the  prudent  citizen,  takes  care 

To  keep  for  better  marts  his  staple  ware  ; 

His  toys  are  good  enough  for  Stourbridge  fair. 

Tricks  were  the  fashion  ;  if  it  now  be  spent, 

*Tis  time  enough  at  Easter  to  invent ; 

No  man  will  make  up  a  new  suit  for  Lent. 

If  now  and  then  he  takes  a  small  pretence, 

To  forage  for  a  little  wit  and  sense, 

Pray  pardon  him,  he  meant  you  n^  offence. 

Next  summer,  Nostradamus  tells,  they  say, 

That  all  the  critics  shall  be  shipp'd  away, 

An^  not  enow  be  left  to  damn  a  play. 

To  every  sail  beside,  good  Heaven,  be  kind  ; 

But  drive  away  that  swarm  with  such  a  wind. 

That  not  one  locust  may  be  left  behind  ! 


458  PROLoauES. 


TO  "  OEDIPUS." 

When  Athens  all  the  Grecian  state  did  guide, 

And  Greece  gave  laws  to  all  the  world  beside  ; 

Then  Sophocles  with  Socrates  did  sit, 

Supreme  in  wisdom  one,  and  one  in  wit : 

And  wit  from  wisdom  differ'd  not  in  those. 

But,  as  'twas  sung  in  verse,  or  said  in  prose. 

Then,  (Edipus,  on  crowded  theatres, 

Drew  all  admiring  eyes  and  listening  ears : 

The  pleased  spectator  shouted  every  line, 

The  noblest,  manliest,  and  the  best  design  ! 

And  every  critic  of  each  learned  age. 

By  this  just  model  has  reformed  the  stage. 

Now,  should  it  fail,  (as  Heaven  avert  our  fear) 

Damn  it  in  silence,  lest  the  world  should  hear. 

For  were  it  known  this  poem  did  not  please, 

You  might  set  up  for  perfect  savages  : 

Your  neighbours  would  not  look  on  you  as  men, 

But  think  the  nation  all  turn'd  Picts  again. 

Faith,  as  you  manage  matters,  'tis  not  lit 

You  should  suspect  yourselves  of  too  much  wit ; 

Drive  not  the  jest  too  far,  but  spare  this  piece  ; 

And,  for  this  once,  be  not  more  wise  than  Greeceu 

See  twice  !  do  not  pell-mell  to  damning  fall. 

Like  true-born  Britons,  who  ne'er  think  at  all : 

Pray  be  advised  ;  and  though  at  Mons  you  won, 

On  pointed  cannon  do  not  always  run. 

With  some  respect  to  ancient  wit  proceed  ; 

You  take  the  four  first  councils  for  your  creed. 

But,  when  you  lay  tradition  wholly  by. 

And  on  the  private  spirit  alone  rely. 

You  turn  fanatics  in  your  poetry. 

If,  notwithstanding  all  that  we  can  say. 

You  needs  will  have  your  pen'orths  of  the  play, 

And  come  resolved  to  damn,  because  you  pay, 

Record  it,  in  memorial  of  the  fact. 

The  first  play  buried  since  the  woollen  act. 


PROLOGUES.  469 

TO  «  TEOILUS  AND  CEESSIDA." 

SPOKEN    BY    MR.  BETTERTON,   REPRESENTINa    THE    GHOST   OF 
SHAKSPEARE. 

See,  my  loved  Britons,  see  your  Shakspeare  rise, 
An  awful  ghost  confess'd  to  human  eyes  ! 
Unnamed,  methinks,  distinguish'd  I  had  been 
From  other  shades,  by  this  eternal  green. 
About  whose  wreaths  the  vulgar  poets  strive, 
And  with  a  touch,  their  wither'd  bays  revive. 
Untaught,  unpractised,  in  a  barbarous  age, 
I  found  not,  but  created  first  the  stage. 
And,  if  I  drain'd  no  Greek  or  Latin  store, 
Twas,  that  my  own  abundance  gave  me  more. 
On  foreign  trade  I  needed  not  rely. 
Like  fruitful  Britain,  rich  without  supply. 
In  this  my  rough-drawn  play  you  shall  behold 
Some  master-strokes,  so  manly  and  so  bold. 
That  he  who  meant  to  alter,  found  'em  such, 
He  shook,  and  thought  it  sacrilege  to  touch. 
Now,  where  are  the  successors  to  my  name  ? 
What  bring  they  to  fill  out  a  poet's  fame  ? 
Weak,  short-lived  issues  of  a  feeble  age  ; 
Scarce  hving  to  be  christen'd  on  the  stage  ! 
For  humour  farce,  for  love  they  rhyme  dispense, 
That  toUs  the  knell  for  their  departed  sense. 
Dulness  might  thrive  in  any  trade  but  this : 
'Twould  recommend  to  some  fat  benefice. 
Dulness,  that  in  a  playhouse  meets  disgrace, 
Might  meet  with  reverence  in  its  proper  place. 
The  fulsome  clench,  that  nauseates  the  town, 
Would  from  a  judge  or  alderman  go  down. 
Such  virtue  is  there  in  a  robe  and  gown ! 
And  that  insipid  stufi"  which  here  you  hate. 
Might  somewhere  else  be  call'd  a  grave  debate ; 
Dulness  is  decent  in  the  church  and  state. 
But  I  forget  that  still  'tis  understood. 
Bad  plays  are  best  decried  by  showing  good. 
Sit  silent  then,  that  my  pleased  soul  may  see 
A  judging  audience  once  and  worthy  me  ; 
My  faithful  scene  from  true  records  shall  tell, 
How  Trojan  valour  did  the  Greek  excel ; 
Your  great  forefathers  shall  their  fame  regain, 
And  Homer's  angry  ghost  repine  in  vain. 


460  PROLOGUES. 

TO  'CiESAR  BORGIA,* 

BY  NATHANIEL  LEE,  1680. 

The  unhappy  man,  who  once  has  trailed  a  pen, 
Lives  not  to  please  himself,  but  other  men ; 
Is  always  drudging,  wastes  his  life  and  blood, 
Yet  only  eats  and  drinks  what  you  think  good. 
What  praise  soe'er  the  poetry  deserve, 
Yet  every  fool  can  bid  the  poet  starve. 
That  fumbling  lecher  to  revenge  is  bent. 
Because  he  thinks  himself  or  whore  is  meant : 
Name  but  a  cuckold,  all  the  city  swarms  ; 
From  Leadenhall  to  Ludgate  is  in  arms : 
Were  there  no  fear  of  Antichrist,  or  France, 
In  the  blest  time  poor  poets  live  by  chance. 
Either  you  come  not  here,  or,  as  you  grace 
S'  >me  old  acquaintance,  drop  into  the  place, 
Careless  and  qualmish  with  a  yawning  face  : 
You  sleep  o'er  wit,  and  by  my  troth  you  may ; 
Most  of  your  talents  lie  another  way. 
You  love  to  hear  of  some  prodigious  tale. 
The  bell  that  toll'd  alone,  or  Irish  whale. 
News  is  your  food,  and  you  enough  provide, 
Both  for  yourselves,  and  all  the  world  beside. 
One  theatre  there  is  of  vast  resort, 
Which  whilome  of  Requests  was  call'd  the  Court ; 
But  now  the  great  Exchange  of  News  'tis  hight. 
And  full  of  hum  and  buz  from  noon  'till  night. 
Up  stairs  and  down  you  run,  as  for  a  race. 
And  each  man  wears  three  nations  in  his  face. 
So  big  you  look,  though  claret  you  retrench. 
That,  arm'd  with  bottled  ale,  you  huff  the  French. 
But  all  your  entertainment  still  is  fed 
By  villains  in  your  own  dull  island  bred. 
Would  you  return  to  us,  we  dare  engage 
To  show  you  better  rogues  upon  the  stage. 
You  know  no  poison  but  plain  ratsbane  here  ; 
Death 's  more  refined,  and  better  bred  elsewhere. 
They  have  a  civil  way  in  Italy, 
By  smelling  a  perfume  to  make  you  die ; 
A  trick  would  make  you  lay  your  snuff-box  by. 


1^ 


UNI\' 

Ca>[  'FC  '  PROLOGUES.  ^^ 


Murder 's  a  trade,  so  known  and  practised  there, 
That  'tis  infallible  as  is  the  chair. 
But,  mark  their  feast,  you  shall  behold  such  pranks ; 
The  Pope  says  grace,  but  'tis  the  Devil  gives  thanks. 


TO  «SOPHONISBA,"  1680. 

Thespls,  the  first  professor  of  our  art, 
At  country  wakes,  sung  ballads  from  a  cart. 
To  prove  this  true,  if  Latin  be  no  trespass, 
"  Dicitur  et  plaustris  vexisse  Poemata  Thespis.** 
But  iEschylus,  says  Horace  in  some  page, 
Was  the  first  mountebank  that  trod  the  stage  : 
Yet  Athens  never  knew  your  learned  sport 
Of  tossing  poets  in  a  tennis-court. 
But  'tis  the  talent  of  our  English  nation 
Still  to  be  plotting  some  new  reformation  : 
And  few  years  hence,  if  anarchy  goes  on, 
Jack  Presbyter  shall  here  erect  his  throne, 
Knock  out  a  tub  with  preaching  once  a  day, 
And  every  prayer  be  longer  than  a  play. 
Then  all  your  heathen  wits  shall  go  to  pot. 
For  disbeheving  of  a  Popish-plot : 
Your  poets  shall  be  used  like  infidels. 
And  worst,  the  author  of  the  Oxford  bells : 
Nor  should  we  'scape  the  sentence,  to  depart, 
E'en  in  our  first  original — a  cart. 
No  zealous  brother  there  would  want  a  stone, 
To  maul  us  cardinals,  and  pelt  Pope  Joan : 
Religion,  learning,  wit,  would  be  suppressed, 
Rags  of  the  whore,  and  trappings  of  the  beast : 
Scot,  Suarez,  Tom  of  Aquin,  must  go  down, 
As  chief  supporters  of  the  triple  crown ; 
And  Aristotle  's  for  destruction  ripe  ; 
Some  say,  he  call'd  the  soul  an  organ-pipe, 
Which,  By  some  little  help  of  derivation, 
Shall  then  be  proved  a  pipe  of  inspiratioiL 


41 


462  PROLOGUES. 

A  PROLOGUE. 

If  yet  there  be  a  few  that  take  dehght 

In  that  which  reasonable  men  should  write; 

Tp  them  alone  we  dedicate  this  night. 

The  rest  may  satisfy  their  curious  itch, 

With  city-gazettes,  or  some  factious  speech, 

Or  whate'er  hbel,  for  the  pubhc  good, 

Stirs  up  the  shrove-tide  crew  to  fire  and  blood 

Bemove  your  benches,  you  apostate  pit. 

And  take,  above,  twelve  pennyworth  of  wit ; 

Go  back  to  your  dear  dancing  on  the  rope. 

Or  see  what 's  worse,  the  devil  and  the  pope. 

The  plays  that  take  on  our  corrupted  stage, 

Methinks,  resemble  the  distracted  age ; 

Noise,  madness,  all  unreasonable  things. 

That  strike  at  sense,  as  rebels  do  at  kings. 

The  style  of  forty-one  our  poets  write. 

And  you  are  grown  to  judge  like  forty-eight. 

Such  censures  our  mistaking  audience  make, 

That  'tis  almost  grown  scandalous  to  take. 

They  talk  of  fevers  that  infect  the  brains  ; 

But  nonsense  is  the  new  disease  that  reigns. 

Weak  stomachs,  with  a  long  disease  oppressed. 

Cannot  the  cordials  of  strong  wit  digest. 

Therefore  thin  nourishment  of  farce  ye  choose, 

Decoctions^  of  a  barley-water  muse : 

A  meal  of  tragedy  would  make  ye  sick, 

Unless  it  were  a  very  tender  chick. 

Some  scenes  in  sippets  would  be  worth  our  time ; 

Those  would  go  down  ;  some  love  that's  poach'd  in  rhyme ; 

If  these  should  fail 

We  must  lie  down,  and,  after  all  our  cost, 
Keep  holiday,  like  watermen  in  frost ; 
While  you  turn  players  on  the  world's  great  stage. 
And  act  yourselves  the  farce  of  your  own  age. 


TO  THE  UNIVEBSITY-  OF  OXFOBD,  1681. 

The  famed  Italian  muse,  whose  rhymes  advance 
Orlando  and  the  Paladins  of  France, 
Records,  that,  when  our  wit  and  sense  is  flown, 
'Tis  lodged  wittin  the  circle  of  the  moon, 


PROLOGUES.  463 

In  earthen  jars,  which  one,  who  thither  soar'd, 

Set  to  his  nose,  snufF'd  up,  and  was  restored. 

Whatever  the  story  be,  the  moral 's  true ; 

The  wit  we  lost  in  town,  we  find  in  you. 

Our  poets  their  fled  parts  may  draw  from  hence, 

And  fill  their  windy  heads  with  sober  sense. 

When  London  votes  with  Southwark's  disagree, 

Here  they  may  find  their  long-lost  loyalty. 

Here  busy  senates,  to  the  old  cause  inclined. 

May  snufi"  the  votes  their  fellows  left  behind : 

Your  country  neighbours,  when  their  grain  grows  dear. 

May  come,  and  find  their  last  provision  here : 

Whereas  we  cannot  much  lament  our  loss. 

Who  neither  carried  back,  nor  brought  one  cross. 

We  look'd  what  representatives  would  bring ; 

But  they  help'd  us,  just  as  they  did  the  king. 

Yet  we  despair  not ;  for  we  now  lay  forth 

The  Sibyl's  books  to  those  who  know  their  worth ; 

And  though  the  first  was  sacrificed  before. 

These  volumes  doubly  will  the  price  restore. 

Our  poet  bade  us  hope  this  grace  to  find,    - 

To  whom  by  long  prescription  you  are  kind. 

He,  whose  undaunted  Muse,  with  loyal  rage, 

Has  never  spared  the  vices  of  the  age, 

Here  finding  nothing  that  his  spleen  can  raise, 

Is  forced  to  turn  his  satire  into  praise. 


TO  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS, 

UPON  HIS  FIRST  APPEARANCE  AT  THE  DUKE'S  THEATRE^ 
AFTER  HIS  RETURN  FROM  SCOTLAND,    1682. 

In  those  cold  regions  which  no  summers  cheer, 
Where  brooding  darkness  covers  half  the  year, 
To  hollow  caves  the  shivering  natives  go ; 
Bears  range  abroad,  and  hunt  in  tracks  of  snow : 
But  when  the  tedious  twilight  wears  away. 
And  stars  grow  paler  at  the  approach  of  day, 
The  longing  crowds  to  frozen  mountains  rim ; 
Happy  who  first  can  see  the  ghmmering  sun : 


464  FEOLOGUES. 

The  surly,  savage  offspring  disappear, 

And  curse  the  bright  successor  of  the  year. 

Yet,  though  rough  bears  in  covert  seek  defence, 

White  foxes  stay,  with  seeming  innocence : 

That  crafty  kind  with  dayhght  can  dispense. 

Still  we  are  throng'd  so  fuU  with  Reynard's  race, 

That  loyal  subjects  scarce  can  find  a  place : 

Thus  modest  truth  is  cast  behind  the  crowd : 

Truth  speaks  too  low ;  Hypocrisy  too  loud. 

Let  them  be  first  to  flatter  in  success  ; 

Duty  can  stay,  but  guilt  has  need  to  press. 

Once,  when  true  zeal  the  sons  of  God  did  call, 

To  make  their  solemn  show  at  heaven's  Whitehall, 

The  fawning  devil  appeared  among  the  rest, 

And  made  as  good  a  courtier  as  the  best. 

The  friends  of  Job,  who  rail'd  at  him  before. 

Came  cap  in  hand  when  he  had  three  times  more. 

Yet  late  repentance  may,  perhaps,  be  true ; 

Kings  can  forgive,  if  rebels  can  but  sue : 

A  tyrant's  power  in  rigour  is  express' d ; 

The  father  yearns  in  the  true  prince's  breast. 

We  grant,  an  o'ergrown  Whig  no  grace  can  mend ; 

But  most  are  babes,  that  know  not  they  offend. 

The  crowd  to  restless  motion  still  inclined. 

Are  clouds,  that  tack  according  to  the  wind. 

Driven  by  their  chiefs  they  storms  of  hailstones  poiir ; 

Then  mourn,  and  soften  to  a  silent  shower. 

Oh,  welcome  to  this  much-offending  land. 

The  prince  that  brings  forgiveness  in  his  hand ! 

Thus  angels  on  glad  messages  appear : 

Their  first  salute  commands  us  not  to  fear : 

Thus  Heaven,  that  could  constrain  us  to  obey, 

(With  reverence  if  we  might  presume  to  say) 

Seems  to  relax  the  rights  of  sovereign  sway : 

Permits  to  man  the  choice  of  good  and  ill, 

And  makes -us  happy  by  our  own  free-wilL 


PItOLOGUES.  465 


TO  «  THE  EARL  OF  ESSEX." 

[BT  MR.  J.  BANKS,  1682.]     SPOKEN  TO  THE  KING  AND  THE 
QUEEN  AT  THEIR  COMING  TO  THE  HOUSE. 

When  first  the  ark  was  landed  on  the  shore, 

And  Heaven  had  vow'd  to  curse  the  ground  no  more ; 

When  tops  of  hills  the  longing  patriarch  saw, 

And  the  new  scene  of  earth  began  to  draw, 

The  dove  was  sent  to  view  the  waves'  decrease. 

And  first  brought  back  to  man  the  pledge  of  peace. 

'Tis  needless  to  apply,  when  those  appear. 

Who  bring  the  olive,  and  who  plant  it  here. 

We  have  before  our  eyes  the  royal  dove. 

Still  innocent,  as  harbinger  to  love : 

The  ark  is  open'd  to  dismiss  the  train, 

And  people  with  a  better  race  the  plain. 

Tell  me,  ye  Powers,  why  should  vain  man  pursue, 

With  endless  toil,  each  object  that  is  new. 

And  for  the  seeming  substance  leave  the  true  ? 

Why  should  he  quit  for  hopes  his  certain  good. 

And  loathe  the  manna  of  his  daily  food  ? 

Must  England  still  the  scene  of  changes  be, 

Toss'd  and  tempestuous,  like  our  ambient  sea  ? 

Must  still  our  weather  and  our  wills  agree  ] 

Without  our  blood  our  liberties  we  have : 

Who  that  is  free  would  fight  to  be  a  slave  1 

Or,  what  can  wars  to  after-times  assure, 

Of  which  our  present  age  is  not  secure  1 

All  that  our  monarch  would  for  us  ordain, 

Is  but  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  his  reign. 

Our  land 's  an  Eden,  and  the  main 's  our  fence. 

While  we  preserve  our  state  of  innocence : 

That  lost,  then  beasts  their  brutal  force  employ, 

And  first  their  lord,  and  then  themselves  destroy. 

What  civil  broils  have  cost,  we  know  too  well ; 

Oh,  let  it  be  enough  that  once  we  fell ! 

And  every  heart  conspire,  and  every  tongue. 

Still  to  have  such  a  king,  and  this  king  long. 


41* 


466  PROLOGUES. 

TO  «THE  LOYAL  BROTHER;  OR,  THE  PERSLA.N 
PRINCE." 

[by  MR.  SOUTHERN,   1682.] 

Poets,  like  lawful  monarchs,  ruled  the  stage. 

Till  critics,  like  damn'd  Whigs,  debauch'd  our  age. 

Mark  how  they  jump  :  critics  would  regulate 

Our  theatres,  and  Whigs  reform  our  state  : 

Both  pretend  love,  and  both  (plague  rot  them  !)  hate. 

The  critic  humbly  seems  advice  to  bring  ; 

The  fawning  Whig  petitions  to  the  king  : 

But  one's  advice  into  a  satire  slides  ; 

T'  other's  petition  a  remonstrance  hides. 

These  will  no  taxes  give,  and  those  no  pence  ; 

Critics  would  starve  the  poet,  Whigs  the  prince. 

The  critic  all  our  troops  of  friends  discards  ; 

Just  so  the  Whig  would  fain  pull  down  the  guards. 

Guards  are  illegal,  that  drive  foes  away. 

As  watchful  shepherds,  that  fright  beasts  of  prey. 

Kings,  who  disband  such  needless  aids  as  these, 

Are  safe — as  long  as  e'er  their  subjects  please  : 

And  that  would  be  till  next  queen  Bess's  night : 

Which  thus  grave  penny  chroniclers  indite. 

Sir  Edmondbury  first,  in  woful  wise, 

Leads  up  the  show,  and  milks  their  maudlin  eyes. 

There 's  not  a  butcher's  wife  but  dribs  her  part, 

And  pities  the  poor  pageant  from  her  heart ; 

Who,  to  provoke  revenge,  rides  round  the  fire, 

And,  with  a  civil  conge,  does  retire  : 

But  guiltless  blood  to  ground  must  never  fall ; 

There  's  Antichrist  behind,  to  pay  for  all. 

The  punk  of  Babylon  in  pomp  appears,. 

A  lewd  old  gentleman  of  seventy  years  : 

Whose  age  in  vain  our  mercy  would  implore ; 

For  few  take  pity  on  an  old  cast  whore. 

The  devil,  who  brought  him  to  the  shame,  takes  part ; 

Sits  cheek  by  jowl,  in  black,  to  cheer  his  heart ; 

Like  thief  and  parson  in  a  Tyburn-cart. 

The  word  is  given,  and  with  a  loud  huzza 

The  mitred  puppet  from  his  chair  they  draw  : 

On  the  slain  corpse  contending  nations  fall : 

Alas  !  what 's  one  poor  Pope  among  them  all ! 

He  bums  ;  now  all  true  hearts  your  triumphs  ring : 

And  next,  for  fashion,  cry,  God  save  the  ki-ng. 


PROLOGUES.  467 

A  needfiil  cry  in  'midst  of  such  alarms, 
When  forty  thousand  men  are  up  in  arms. 
But  after  he 's  once  saved,  to  make  amends, 
In  each  succeeding  health  they  damn  his  friends  : 
So  God  begins,  but  still  the  Devil  ends. 
What  if  some  one,  inspired  with  zeal,  sho^d  call, 
Come,  let 's  go  cry,  God  save  him,  at  Whitehall  1 
His  best  friends  would  not  like  this  over-care, 
Or  think  him  e'er  the  safer  for  this  prayer. 
Five  praying  saints  are  by  an  act  allow'd  ; 
But  not  the  whole  church-militant  in  crowd. 
Yet,  should  Heaven  all  the  true  petitions  drain 
Of  Presbyterians  who  would  kings  maintain, 
Of  forty  thousand,  five  would  scarce  remain. 


TO  THE  KING  AND  QUEEN, 

UPON  THE  UNION  OF  THE  TWO  COMPANIES  IN   1682. 

Since  faction  ebbs,  and  rogues  grow  out  of  fashion, 
Their  penny  scribes  take  care  to  inform  the  nation, 
How  well  men  thrive  in  this  or  that  plantation ; 

How  Pennsylvania's  air  agrees  with  Quakers, 

And  Carolina's  with  Associators  : 

Both  e'en  too  good  for  madmen  and  for  traitors. 

Truth  is,  our  land  with  saints  is  so  run  o'er. 

And  every  age  produces  such  a  store, 

That  now  there 's  need  of  two  New-Englands  more. 

What 's  this,  you  '11  say,  to  us  and  our  vocation  1 
Only  thus  much,  that  we  have  left  our  station, 
And  made  this  theatre  our  new  plantation. 

The  factious  natives  never  could  agree  ; 
But  aiming,  as  they  call'd  it,  to  be  free. 
Those  play-house  Whigs  set  up  for  property. 

Some  say,  they  no  obedience  paid  of  late  ; 
But  would  new  fears  and  jealousies  create  ; 
Till  topsy-turvy  they  had  turn'd  the  state. 

Plain  sense,  without  the  talent  of  foretelling, 

Might  guess  'twould  end  in  downright  knocks  and  quelling; 

For  seldom  comes  there  better  of  rebelling. 


468  PROLOGUES. 

When  men  "will,  needlessly,  their  freedom  barter 
For  lawless  power,  sometimes  they  catch  a  Tartar ; 
There 's  a  damn'd  word  that  rhymes  to  this,  call'd  Charter, 

But,  since  the  victory  with  us  remains. 
You  shall  be  calM  to  twelve  in  all  our  gains ; 
If  you  '11  not  think  us  saucy  for  our  pains. 

Old  men  shall  have  good  old  plays  to  delight  'em  : 
And  you,  fair  ladies  and  gallants,  that  slight  'em, 
We  '11  treat  with  good  new  plays ;  if  our  new  wits  can 
write  'em. 

We  '11  take  no  blundering  verse,  no  fustian  tumour, 
No  dribbhng  love,  from  this  or  that  perfumer  ; 
No  dull  fat  fool  shamm'd  on  the  stage  for  humour. 

For,  faith,  some  of  'em  such  vile  stuff  have  made, 
As  none  but  fools  or  fairies  ever  play'd  ; 
But  'twas,  as  shopmen  say,  to  force  a  trade. 

We  've  given  you  tragedies,  all  sense  defying. 
And  singing  men,  in  woful  metre  dying  ; 
This  'tis  when  heavy  lubbers  will  be  flying. 

All  these  disasters  we  well  hope  to  weather ; 
We  bring  you  none  of  our  old  lumber  hither : 
Whig  poets  and  Whig  sheriffs  may  hang  together. 


TO  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD. 

SPOKEN  AT  THE  ACTING  OP  "THE  SILENT  WOMAN." 

What  Greece,  when  learning  flourish'd,  only  knew, 

Athenian  judges,  you  this  day  renew. 

Here  too  are  annual  rites  to  Pallas  done, 

And  here  poetic  prizes  lost  or  won. 

Methinks  I  see  you,  crown'd  with  olives,  sit, 

And  strike  a  sacred  horror  from  the  pit. 

A  day  of  doom  is  this  of  your  decree. 

Where  even  the  best  are  but  by  mercy  free  : 

A  day,  which  none  but  Jonson  durst  have  wish'd  to  see. 

Here  they,  who  long  have  known  the  useful  stage. 

Come  to  be  taught  themselves  to  teach  the  age. 


PROLOGUES.  469 

As  your  commissioners  our  poets  go, 

To  cultivate  the  virtue  which  you  sow ; 

In  your  Lycseum  fir^  themselves  refined, 

And  delegated  thence  to  human-kind. 

But  as  ambassadors,  when  long  from  home, 

For  new  instructions  to  their  princes  come ; 

So  poets,  who  your  precepts  have  forgot, 

Keturn,  and  beg  they  may  be  better  taught : 

FoUies  and  faults  elsewhere  by  them  are  shown, 

But  by  your  manners  they  correct  their  own. 

The  iUiterate  writer,  empiric-Uke,  applies 

To  minds  diseased,  unsafe,  chance,  remedies  : 

The  learned  in  schools,  where  knowledge  first  began. 

Studies  with  care  the  anatomy  of  man  ; 

Sees  virtue,  vice,  and  passions  in  their  cause, 

And  fame  from  science,  not  from  fortune,  draws. 

So  Poetry,  which  is  in  Oxford  made 

An  art,  in  London  only  is  a  trade. 

There  haughty  dunces,  whose  unlearned  pen 

Could  ne'er  spell  grammar,  would  be  reading  men. 

Such  build  their  poems  the  Lucretian  way ; 

So  many  huddled  atoms  make  a  play ; 

And  if  they  hit  in  order  by  some  chance, 

They  call  that  nature,  which  is  ignorance. 

To  such  a  fame  let  mere  town-wits  aspire. 

And  their  gay  nonsense  their  own  cits  admire. 

Our  poet,  could  he  find  forgiveness  here. 

Would  wish  it  rather  than  a  plaudit  there. 

He  owns  no  crown  from  those  Praetorian  bands. 

But  knows  that  right  is  in  the  senate's  hands. 

Not  impudent  enough  to  hope  your  praise. 

Low  at  the  Muses*  feet  his  wreath  he  lays. 

And,  where  he  took  it  up,  resigns  his  bays. 

Kings  make  their  poets  whom  themselves  think  fit, 

But  'tis  your  suffrage  makes  authentic  wit. 


TO  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD. 

Discord  and  plots,  which  have  undone  our  age, 
With  the  same  ruin  have  o'erwhelm'd  the  stage. 
Our  house  has  suffered  in  the  common  woe, 
We  have  been  troubled  with  Scotch  rebels  too. 


470  PROLOGUES. 

Our  brethren  are  from  Thames  to  Tweed  departed, 

And  of  our  sisters,  all  the  kinder-hearted, 

To  Edinburgh  gone,  or  coach'd,  or  carifed. 

With  bonny  bluecap  there  they  act  all  night 

For  Scotch  half-crown,  in  England  three-pence  hight. 

One  nymph,  to  whom  fat  Sir  John  FalstafF  's  lean, 

There  with  her  single  person  fills  the  scene. 

Another,  with  long  use  and  age  decay' d, 

Dived  here  old  woman,  and  rose  there  a  maid. 

Our  trusty  doorkeepers  of  former  time 

There  strut  and  swagger  in  heroic  rhyme. 

Tack  but  a  copper-lace  to  drugget  suit, 

And  there  's  a  hero  made  without  dispute : 

And  that,  which  was  a  capon's  tail  before, 

Becomes  a  plume  for  Indian  emperor. 

But  all  his  subjects,  to  express  the  care 

Of  imitation,  go,  like  Indians,  bare  : 

Laced  linen  there  would  be  a  dangerous  thing ; 

It  might  perhaps  a  new  rebellion  bring  ; 

The  Scot,  who  wore  it,  would  be  chosen  king. 

But  why  should  I  these  renegades  describe. 

When  you  yourselves  have  seen  a  lewder  tribe  1 

Teague  has  been  here,  and,  to  this  learned  pit, 

With  Irish  action  slander'd  Enghsh  wit : 

You  have  beheld  such  barbarous  Macs  appear, 

As  merited  a  second  massacre  : 

Such  as,  like  Cain,  were  branded  with  disgrace, 

And  had  their  country  stamp'd  upon  their  face. 

When  strollers  durst  presume  to  pick  your  purse, 

We  humbly  thought  our  broken  troop  not  worse. 

How  ill  soe'er  our  action  may  deserve, 

Oxford  's  a  place  where  wit  can  never  starve. 


TO  THE  UNIVEESITY  OF  OXFORD. 

♦Though  actors  cannot  much  of  learning  boast, 
Of  all  who  want  it,  we  admire  it  most : 
We  love  the  praises  of  a  learned  pit, 
As  we  remotely  are  allied  to  wit. 
We  speak  our  poet's  wit,  and  trade  in  ore, 
Like  those,  who  touch  upon  the  golden  shore  : 
Betwixt  our  judges  can  distinction  make. 
Discern  how  much,  and  why,  our  ix)ems  take : 


PROLOGUES.  471 

Mark  if  the  fools,  or  men  of  sense,  rejoice  ; 

Whether  the  applause  be  only  sound  or  voice. 

When  our  fop  gallants,  or  our  city  folly. 

Clap  over-loud,  it  makes  us  melancholy  : 

We  doubt  that  scene  which  does  their  wonder  raise, 

And,  for  their  ignorance,  contemn  their  praise. 

Judge  then,  if  we  who  act,  and  they  who  write, 

Should  not  be  proud  of  giving  you  delight. 

London  likes  grossly  ;  but  this  nicer  pit 

Examines,  fathoms  all  the  depths  of  wit ; 

The  ready  finger  lays  on  every  blot ; 

Knows  what  should  justly  please,  and  what  should- not. 

Nature  herself  lies  open  to  your  view  ; 

You  judge  by  her,  what  draught  of  her  is  true. 

Where  outhnes  false,  and  colours  seem  too  faint. 

Where  bunglers  daub,  and  where  true  poets  paint. 

But,  by  the  sacred  genius  of  this  place, 

By  every  Muse,  by  each  domestic  grace. 

Be  kind  to  wit,  which  but  endeavours  well, 

And,  where  you  judge,  presumes  not  to  excel. 

Our  poets  hither  for  adoption  come, 

A.S  nations  sued  to  be  made  free  of  Rome  : . 

Not  in  the  suffragating  tribes  to  stand. 

But  in  your  utmost,  last,  provincial  band. 

If  his  ambition  may  those  hopes  pursue. 

Who  with  religion  loves  your  arts  and  you, 

Oxford  to  him  a  dearer  name  shall  be. 

Than  his  own  mother-university. 

Thebes  did  his  green,  unknowing,  youth  engage ; 

He  chooses  Athens  in  his  riper  age. 


TO  "ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS." 

Full  twenty  years  and  more,  our  labouring  stage 
Has  lost,  on  tnis  incorrigible  age  : 
Our  poets,  the  John  Ketches  of  the  nation, 
Have  seem'd  to  lash  ye,  even  to  excoriation  ; 
But  still  no  sign  remains  ;  which  plainly  notes, 
You  bore  like  heroes,  or  you  bribed  like  Oates. 
What  can  we  do,  when  mimicking  a  fop. 
Like  beating  nut-trees,  makes  a  larger  crop  1 


472  PROLOGUES. 

'Faith,  we  '11  e'en  spare  our  pains !  and,  to  content  you, 

Will  fairly  leave  you  what  your  Maker  meant  you. 

Satire  was  once  your  physic,  wit  your  food  ; 

One  nourish'd  not,  and  t'  other  drew  no  blood  : 

We  now  prescribe,  like  doctors  in  despair, 

The  diet  your  weak  appetites  can  bear. 

Since  hearty  beef  and  mutton  will  not  do, 

Here 's  julep-dance,  ptisan  of  song  and  show  : 

Give  you  strong  sense,  the  liquor  is  too  heady ; 

You  *re  come  to  force, — that 's  asses'  milk, — already. 

Some  hopeful  youths  there  are,  of  callow  wit, 

Who  one  day  may  be  men,  if  Heaven  think  fit ; 

Sound  may  serve  such,  ere  they  to  sense  are  grown, 

Like  leading-strings,  till  they  can  walk  alone. 

But  yet,  to  keep  our  friends  in  countenance,  know, 

The  wise  Italians  first  invented  show  ; 

Thence  into  France  the  noble  pageant  pass'd : 

'Tis  England's  credit  to  be  cozen 'd  last. 

Freedom  and  zeal  have  choused  you  o'er  and  o'er ; 

Pray  give  us  leave  to  bubble  you  once  more  ; 

You  never  were  so  cheaply  fool  d  before  : 

We  bring  you  change,  to  humour  your  disease  ; 

Change  for  the  worse  has  ever  used  to  please  : 

Then,  'tis  the  mode  of  France  ;  without  whose  rules. 

None  must  presume  to  set  up  here  for  fools. 

In  France,  the  oldest  man  is  always  young. 

Sees  operas  daily,  learns  the  tunes  so  long. 

Till  foot,  hand,  head,  keep  time  with  every  song : 

Each  sings  his  part,  echoing  from  pit  and  box 

With  his  hoarse  voice,  half  harmony,  half  pox. 

Le  plus  grand  rot  du  monde  is  always  ringing. 

They  show  themselves  good  subjects  by  their  singing: 

On  that  condition,  set  up  every  throat ; 

You  Whigs  may  sing,  for  you  have  changed  your  note^ 

Cits  and  citesses,  raise  a  joyful  strain, 

'Tis  a  good  omen  to  begin  a  reign  ; 

Voices  may  help  your  charter  to  restoring, 

And  get  by  singing,  what  you  lost  by  roaring. 


PROLoauEs.  473 

TO  "ARYIRAGUS  AND  PHILICIA"  EEVIVED. 

[by  LODOWICK  CARLELL,  ESQ.]     SPOKEN  BY  MR.  HART. 

With  sickly  actors  and  an  old  house  too, 

We're  matched  with  glorious  theatres  and  new, 

And  with  our  alehouse  scenes,  and  clothes  bare  worn, 

Can  neither  raise  old  plays,  nor  new  adorn. 

If  all  these  ills  could  not  undo  us  quite, 

A  brisk  French  troop  is  grown  your  dear  delight ; 

Who  with  broad  bloody  bills  call  you  each  day, 

To  laugh  and  break  your  buttons  at  their  play ; 

Or  see  some  serious  piece,  which  we  presume 

Is  fall'n  from  some  incomparable  plume  ; 

And  therefore.  Messieurs,  if  you  '11  do  us  grace, 

Send  lackeys  early  to  preserve  your  place. 

We  dare  not  on  your  privilege  intrench, 

Or  ask  you  why  you  like  them  1  they  are  French. 

Therefore  some  go  with  courtesy  exceeding. 

Neither  to  hear  nor  see,  but  show  their  breeding  : 

Each  lady  striving  to  out-laugh  the  rest ; 

To  make  it  seem  they  understood  the  jest. 

Their  countrymen  come  in,  and  nothing  pay, 

To  teach  us  English  where  to  clap  the  play : 

Civil,  egad  !  our  hospitable  land 

Bears  all  the  charge,  for  them  to  understand : 

Meantime  we  languish,  and  neglected  lie, 

Like  wives,  while  you  keep  better  company ; 

And  wish  for  your  own  sakes,  without  a  satire, 

You  'd  less  good  breeding,  or  had  more  good-nature. 


TO  «  DON  SEBASTIAN." 

SPOKEN  BY  A  WOMAN. 

The  judge  removed,  though  he  's  no  more  my  lord, 
May  plead  at  bar,  or  at  the  council-board : 
So  may  cast  poets  write ;  there 's  no  pretension 
To  argue  loss  of  wit  from  loss  of  pension. 
Your  looks  are  cheerful ;  and  in  aU  this  place 
I  see  not  one  that  wears  a  damning  face. 
42 


474  PROLOGUES. 

The  British  nation  is  too  brave,  to  show 
Ignoble  vengeance  on  a  vanquish'd  foe. 
At  last  be  civil  to  the  wretch  imploring ; 
And  lay  your  paws  upon  him,  without  roaring. 
Suppose  our  poet  was  your  foe  before, 
Yet  now,  the  business  of  the  field  is  o'er ; 
'Tis  time  to  let  your  civil  wars  alone, 
When  troops  are  into  winter-quarters  gone. 
Jove  was  alike  to  Latian  and  to  Phrygian ; 
And  you  well  know  a  play 's  of  no  religion. 
Take  good  advice  and  please  yourselves  this  day ; 
No  matter  from  what  hands  you  have  the  play. 
Among  good  fellows  every  health  will  pass, 
That  serves  to  carry  round  another  glass  : 
When  with  full  bowls  of  Burgundy  you  dine, 
Though  at  the  mighty  monarch  you  repine. 
You  grant  him  still  Most  Christian  in  his  wine. 
Thus  far  the  poet ;  but  his  brains  grow  addle. 
And  all  the  rest  is  purely  from  this  noddle. 
You  have  seen  young  ladies  at  the  senate-door 
Prefer  petitions,  and  your  grace  implore ; 
However  grave  the  legislators  were. 
Their  cause  went  ne'er  the  worse  for  being  fair. 
Reasons  as  weak  as  theirs,  perhaps,  I  bring ; 
But  I  could  bribe  you  with  as  good  a  thing. 
I  heard  him  make  advances  of  good-nature ; 
That  he,  for  once,  would  sheathe  his  cutting  satire. 
Sign  but  his  peace,  he  vows  he  '11  ne'er  again 
The  sacred  name  of  fops  and  beaus  profane. 
Strike  up  the  bargain  quickly ;  for  I  swear, 
As  times  go  now,  he  offers  very  fair. 
Be  not  too  hard  on  him  with  statutes  neither  j 
Be  kind  ;  and  do  not  set  your  teeth  together, 
To  stretch  the  laws,  as  cobblers  do  their  leather. 
Horses  by  Papists  are  not  to  be  ridden. 
But  sure  the  Muses'  horse  was  ne'er  forbidden ; 
For  in  no  rate-book  it  was  ever  found 
That  Pegasus  was  valued  at  five  pound  ; 
Fine  him  to  daily  drudging  and  inditing : 
And  let  him  pay  his  taxes  out  in  writing. 


PROLOGUES.  475 

TO  "  THE  PROPHETESS." 

[by  BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER.]     REVIVED  BY  MR.  DRYDEN 
SPOKEN  BY  MR.  BETTERTON. 

What  Nostradame,  with  all  his  art,  can  guess 
The  fate  of  our  approaching  Prophetess  ? 
A  play,  which,  like  a  perspective  set  right, 
Presents  our  vast  Expenses  close  to  sight ; 
But  turn  the  tube,  and  there  we  sadly  view 
Our  distant  gains  ;  and  those  uncertain  too : 
A  sweeping  tax,  which  on  ourselves  we  raise, 
And  all,  like  you,  in  hopes  of  better  da^s. 
When  will  our  losses  warn  us  to  be  wise  ? 
Our  wealth  decreases,  and  our  charges  rise. 
Money,  the  sweet  allurer  of  our  hopes. 
Ebbs  out  in  oceans,  and  comes  in  by  drops. 
We  raise  new  objects  to  provoke  dehght ; 
But  you  grow  sated,  ere  the  second  sight. 
False  men,  e'en  so  you  serve  your  mistresses  : 
They  rise  three  stories  in  their  towering  dress ; 
And,  after  all,  you  love  not  long  enough 
To  pay  the  rigging,  ere  you  leave  them  ojff. 
Never  content  with  what  you  had  before, 
But  true  to  change,  and  Englishmen  all  o'er. 
Now  honour  calls  you  hence ;  and  all  your  care 
Is  to  provide  the  horrid  pomp  of  war. 
In  plume  and  scarf,  jack-boots,  and  Bilbo  blade, 
Your  silver  goes,  that  should  support  our  trade. 
Go,  unkind  heroes,  leave  our  stage  to  mourn ; 
'Till  rich  from  vanquish'd  rebels  you  return  ; 
And  the  fat  spoils  of  Teague  in  triumph  draw, 
His  firkin-butter,  and  his  usquebaugh. 
Go,  conquerors  of  your  male  and  female  foes ; 
Men  without  hearts,  and  women  without  hose. 
Each  bring  his  love  a  Bogland  captive  home ; 
Such  proper  pages  will  long  trains  become ; 
With  copper  collars,  and  with  brawny  backs, 
Quite  to  put  down  the  fashion  of  our  blacks. 
Then  shall  the  pious  Muses  pay  their  vows, 
And  furnish  all  their  laurels  for  your  brows  ; 
Their  tuneful  voice  shall  raise  for  your  delights ; 
We  want  not  poets  fit  to  sing  your  flights. 


476  PROLOGUES. 

But  you,  bright  beauties,  for  whose  only  sake    ' 
Those  doughty  knights  such  dangers  undertake, 
When  they  with  happy  gales  are  gone  away, 
With  your  propitioij^  presence  grace  our  play;. 
And  with  a  sigh  their  empty  seats  survey : 
Then  think,  on  that  bare  bench  my  servant  sat  y 
I  see  him  ogle  still,  and  hear  him  chat ; 
SeUing  facetious  bargains,  and  propounding 
That  witty  recreation,  call'd  dumb-founding. 
Their  loss  with  patience  we  will  try  to  bear ; 
And  would  do  more,  to  see  you  often  here : 
That  our  dead  stage,  revived  by  your  fair  eyes, 
Under  a  female  regency  may  rise. 


TO  THE  «  MISTAKES." 

Enter  Mr.  Bright. 
Gentlemen,  we  must  beg  your  pardon  ;  here 's  no  Pro- 
logue to  be  had  to-day ;  our  new  play  is  like  to  come  on, 
without  a  frontispiece ;  as  bald  as  one  of  you  young  beaux, 
without  your  periwig.  I  left  our  young  poet,  snivelling 
and  sobbing  behind  the  scenes,  and  cursing  somebody  that 
has  deceived  him. 

Enter  Mr.  Bowen. 
Hold  your  prating  to  the  audience :  here 's  honest  Mr. 
WiUiams,  just  come  in,  half  mellow,  from  the  Rose  Tavern. 
He  swears  he  is  inspired  with  claret,  and  will  come  on,  and 
that  extempore  too,  either  with  a  prologue  of  his  own  or 
something  like  one.    Oh,  here  he  comes  to  his  trial,  at  all 
adventures ;  for  my  part  I  wish  him  a  good  deliverance, 
\Exeunt  Mr.  Bright  and  Mr.  Bowen.] 
Enter  Mr.  Williams. 
Save  ye,  sirs,  save  ye !  I  am  in  a  hopeful  way. 
I  should  speak  something  in  rhyme,  now,  for  the  play  \ 
But  the  deuce  take  me,  if  I  know  what  to  say. 
I'll  stick  to  my  friend  the  author,  that  I  can  tell  ye, 
To  the  last  drop  of  claret,  in  my  belly. 
So  far  I'm  sure  'tis  rhyme — ^that  needs  no  granting  : 
And,  if  my  verses'  feet  stumble — ^you  see  my  own  are 
wanting. 


pROLoauES.  477 

Our  young  poet  has  brought  a  piece  of  work, 

In  which,  though  much  of  art  there  does  not  lurk, 

It  may  hold  out  three  days — and  that 's  as  long  as  Cork. 

But,  for  this  play — (which  till  I  have  done,  we  show  not) 

What  may  be  its  fortune — by  the  Lord — I  know  not. 

This  I  dare  swear,  no  maUce  here  is  writ : 

'Tis  innocent  of  all  things  ;  even  of  wit. 

He  *s  no  high-flier  ;  he  makes  no  sky-rockets, 

His  squibs  are  only  levell'd  at  your  pockets, 

And  if  his  crackers  light  among  your  pelf. 

You  are  blown  up ;  if  not,  then  he 's  blown  up  himself. 

By  this  time,  I'm  something  recover'd  of  my  fluster'd 

madness : 
And  now  a  word  or  two  in  sober  sadness. 
Ours  is  a  common  play ;  and  you  pay  down 
A  common  harlot's  price ;  just  half-a-crown. 
You'll  say,  I  play  the  pimp,  on  my  friend's  score ; 
But  since  'tis  for  a  friend,  your  gibes  give  o'er : 
For  many  a  mother  has  done  that  before. 
How 's  this  ?  you  cry ;  an  actor  write  ?  we  know  it ; 
But  Shakspeare  was  an  actor,  and  a  poet. 
Has  not  great  Jonson's  learning  often  fail'd  ? 
But  Shakspeare's  greater  genius  still  prevail'd. 
Have  not  some  writing  actors,  in  this  age, 
Deserved  and  found  success  upon  the  stage  ? 
To  tell  the  truth,  when  our  old  wits  are  tired, 
Not  one  of  us  but  means  to  be  inspired. 
Let  your  kind  presence  grace  our  homely  cheer ; 
Peace  and  the  butt  is  all  our  business  here  : 
So  much  for  that ;  and  the  devil  take  small  beer. 


TO  "  KING  ARTHUR" 

SPOKEN  BY   MR.   BETTERTON. 

Sure  there  's  a  dearth  of  wit  in  this  dull  town, 
When  silly  plays  so  savourily  go  down  ; 
As,  when  clipp'd  money  passes,  tis  a  sign 
A  nation  is  not  over-stock'd  with  coin. 
Happy  is  he,  who,  in  his  own  defence. 
Can  write  just  level  to  your  humble  sense ; 
Who  higher  than  your  pitch  can  never  go  ; 
And,  doubtless,  he  must  creep,  who  writes  below 
42* 


478  PROLOGUES. 

So  have  I  seen,  in  hall  of  knight,  or  lord, 

A  weak  arm  throw  on  a  long  shovel-board  ; 

He  barely  lays  his  piece,  bar  rubs  and  knocks, 

Secured  by  weakness  not  to  reach  the  box. 

A  feeble  poet  will  his  business  do, 

Who,  straining  all  he  can,  comes  up  to  you  : 

For,  if  you  like  yourselves,  you  like  him  too. 

An  ape  his  own  dear  image  will  embrace  ; 

An  ugly  beau  adores  a  hatchet  face : 

So,  some  of  you,  on  pure  instinct  of  nature, 

Are  led,  by  kind,  to  admire  your  fellow  creature. 

In  fear  of  which,  our  house  has  sent  this  day, 

To  ensure  our  new-built  vessel,  call'd  a  play ; 

No  sooner  named,  than  one  cries  out, — ^These  stagers 

Come  in  good  time,  to  make  more  work  for  wagers. 

The  town  divides,  if  it  will  take  or  no  ; 

The  courtiers  bet,  the  cits,  the  merchants,  too  ; 

A  sign  they  have  but  little  else  to  do. 

Bets,  at  the  first,  were  fool-traps ;  where  the  wise, 

Like  spiders,  lay  in  ambush  for  the  flies : 

But  now  they  're  grown  a  common  trade  for  all. 

And  actions  by  the  new-book  rise  and  fall ; 

Wits,  cheats,  and  fops,  are  free  of  Wager-halL 

One  policy  as  far  as  Lyons  carries  ; 

Another,  nearer  home,  sets  up  for  Paris. 

Our  bets,  at  last,  would  even  to  Rome  extend. 

But  that  the  pope  has  proved  our  trusty  friend. 

Indeed,  it  were  a  bargain  worth  our  money, 

Could  we  ensure  another  Ottoboni. 

Among  the  rest  there  are  a  sharping  set. 

That  pray  for  us,  and  yet  against  us  bet. 

Sure  Heaven  itself  is  at  a  loss  to  know 

If  these  would  have  their  prayers  be  heard,  or  no  : 

For,  in  great  stakes,  we  piously  suppose. 

Men  pray  but  very  faintly  they  may  lose. 

Leave  off  these  wagers ;  for,  in  conscience  speaking, 

The  city  needs  not  your  new  tricks  for  breaking  : 

And  if  you  gallants  lose,  to  all  appearing, 

You  '11  want  an  equipage  for  volunteering ; 

While  thus,  no  spark  of  honour  left  within  ye, 

When  you  should  draw  the  sword,  you  draw  the  guinea. 


PROLOGUES.  479 


TO  "ALBUMAZAR." 


To  say,  this  comedy  pleased  long  ago, 

Is  not  enough  to  make  it  pass  you  now. 

Yet,  gentlemen,  your  ancestors  had  wit ; 

When  few  men  censured,  and  when  fewer  writ. 

And  JoDson,  of  those  few  the  best,  chose  this, 

As  the  best  model  of  his  master-piece. 

Subtle  was  got  by  our  Albumazar, 

That  Alchymist  by  this  Astrologer  ; 

Here  he  was  fashion'd,  and  we  may  suppose 

He  liked  the  fashion  well,  who  wore  the  clothes. 

But  Ben  made  nobly  his  what  he  did  mould ; 

What  was  another's  lead,  becomes  his  gold : 

Like  an  unrighteous  conqueror  he  reigns. 

Yet  rules  that  well,  which  he  unjustly  gains. 

But  this  our  age  such  authors  does  afford, 

As  make  whole  plays,  and  yet  scarce  write  one  word: 

Who,  in  this  anarchy  of  wit,  rob  all, 

And  what 's  their  plunder,  their  possession  call : 

Who,  Uke  bold  padders,  scorn  by  night  to  prey, 

But  rob  by  sunshine,  in  the  face  of  day : 

Nay,  scarce  the  common  ceremony  use 

Of,  Stand,  sir,  and  deliver  up  your  Muse  ; 

But  knock  the  Poet  down,  and,  with  a  grace, 

Mount  Pegasus  before  the  author's  face. 

Faith,  if  you  have  such  country  Toms  abroad, 

'Tis  time  for  all  true  men  to  leave  that  road. 

Yet  it  were  modest,  could  it  but  be  said. 

They  strip  the  living,  but  these  rob  the  dead ; 

Dare  with  the  mummies  of  the  Muses  play, 

And  make  love  to  them  the  Egyptian  way ; 

Or,  as  a  rhyming  author  would  have  said, 

Join  the  dead  living  to  the  living  dead. 

Such  men  in  Poetry  may  claim  some  part : 

They  have  the  Hcence,  though  they  want  the  art ; 

And  might,  where  theft  was  praised,  for  Laureats  stand, 

Poets,  not  of  the  head,  but  of  the  hand. 

They  make  the  benefits  of  others  studying, 

Much  like  the  meals  of  pohtic  Jack-Pudding, 

Whose  dish  to  challenge  no  man  has  the  courage  ; 

*Tis  all  his  own,  when  once  he  has  spit  i'  the  porridgOr 


480  PROLOGUES. 

But,  gentlemen,  you  're  all  concem'd  in  this ; 

You  are  in  fault  for  what  they  do  amiss : 

For  they  their  thefts  still  undiscover'd  think, 

And  durst  not  steal,  unless  you  please  to  wink. 

Perhaps,  you  may  award  by  your  decree, 

They  should  refund  ;  but  that  can  never  be. 

For  should  you  letters  of  reprisal  seal. 

These  men  write  that  which  no  man  else  would  steaL 


TO  "THE  PILGRIM," 

REVIVED  FOR  OUR  AUTHOR'S  BENEFIT,  ANNC    1700. 

How  wretched  is  the  fate  of  those  who  write  ! 
Brought  muzzled  to  the  stage,  for  fear  they  V>ite. 
Where,  like  Tom  Dove,  they  stand  the  common  foe ; 
Lugg'd  by  the  critic,  baited  by  the  beau. 
Yet  worse,  their  brother  Poets  damn  the  Play 
And  roar  the  loudest,  though  they  never  pay. 
The  fops  are  proud  of  scandal,  for  they  cry, 
At  every  lewd,  low  character — That 's  I. 
He,  who  writes  letters  to  himself,  would  swear. 
The  world  forgot  him,  if  he  was  not  there. 
What  should  a  Poet  do  ?     'Tis  hard  for  one 
To  pleasure  all  the  fools  that  would  be  shown : 
Ana  yet  not  two  in  ten  will  pass  the  town. 
Most  coxcombs  are  not  of  the  laughing  kind  ; 
More  goes  to  make  a  fop,  than  fops  can  find. 

Quack  Maurus,  though  he  never  took  degrees 
In  either  of  our  universities  ; 
Yet  to  be  shown  by  some  kind  wit  he  looks, 
Because  he  play'd  the  fool,  and  writ  three  booka. 
But,  if  he  would  be  worth  a  Poet's  pen. 
He  must  be  more  a  fool,  and  write  again : 
For  all  the  former  fustian  stuff  he  wrote, 
Was  dead-bom  doggrel,  or  is  quite  forgot 
His  man  of  Uz,  stript  of  his  Hebrew  robe 
Is  just  the  proverb,  and  as  poor  as  Job. 
One  would  have  thought  he  could  no  longer  jog ; 
But  Arthur  was  a  level.  Job 's  a  bog. 
There,  though  he  crept,  yet  still  he  kept  in  sight ; 
But  here  he  founders  in,  and  sinks  down  right. 


EPILOGUES.  481 

Had  he  prepared  us,  and  been  dull  by  rule, 

Tobit  had  first  been  turn'd  to  ridicule  : 

But  our  bold  Briton,  without  fear  or  awe, 

O'erleaps  at  once  the  whole  Apocrypha ; 

Invades  the  Psalms  with  rhymes,  and  leaves  no  room 

For  any  Vandal  Hopkins  yet  to  come. 

But  when,  if,  after  all,  this  godly  gear 
Is  not  so  senseless  as  it  would  appear  ; 
Our  mountebank  has  laid  a  deeper  train. 
His  cant,  like  Merry-Andrew's  noble  vein, 
Cat-calls  the  sects  to  draw  'em  in  again. 
At  leisure  hours,  in  epic  song  he  deals, 
Writes  to  the  rumbling  of  his  coagh's  wheels. 
Prescribes  in  haste,  and  seldom  kills  by  rule. 
But  rides  triumphant  between  stool  and  stooL 

Well,  let  him  go  ;  'tis  yet  too  early  day, 
To  get  himself  a  place  in  farce  or  play. 
We  know  not  by  what  name  we  should  arraign  him, 
For  no  one  category  can  contain  him  ; 
A  pedant,  canting  preacher,  and  a  quack, 
Are  load  enough  to  break  one  ass's  back  : 
At  last  grown  wanton,  he  presumed  to  write. 
Traduced  two  kings,  their  kindness  to  requite  ; 
One  made  the  doctor,  and  one  dubb'd  the  knight. 


^iloqut^. 


TO  "  THE  INDIAN  QUEEN." 

SPOKEN  BY  MONTEZUMA. 

You  see  what  shifts  we  are  enforced  to  try. 

To  help  out  wit  with  some  variety  ; 

Shows  may  be  found  that  never  yet  were  seen, 

'Tis  hard  to  find  such  wit  as  ne'er  has  been  : 

You  have  seen  all  that  this  old  world  can  do, 

We,  therefore,  try  the  fortune  of  the  new, 

And  hope  it  is  below  your  aim  to  hit 

At  untaught  nature  with  your  practised  wit : 


482  EPILOGUES. 

Our  naked  Indians,  then,  when  wits  appear, 

Would  as  soon  choose  to  have  the  Spaniards  here. 

'Tis  true,  you  have  marks  enough, — the  plot,  the  show, 

The  poet's  scenes,  nay,  more,  the  painter's  too  ; 

If  all  this  fail,  considering  the  cost, 

'Tis  a  true  voyage  to  the  Indies  lost :  ^ 

But  if  you  smile  on  all,  then  these  designs,  " 

Like  the  imperfect  treasure  of  our  minds, 

Will  pass  for  current  wheresoe'er  they  go. 

When  to  your  bounteous  hands  their  stamps  they  owe. 


TO  «  THE  INDIAN  EMPEBOR." 

BY  A  MERCURY. 

To  all  and  singular  in  this  full  meeting, 
Ladies  and  gallants,  Phoebus  sends  ye  greeting. 
To  all  his  sons,  by  whatever  title  known. 
Whether  of  courts  or  coflfee-house,  or  town  ; 
From  his  most  mighty  sons,  whose  confidence 
Is  placed  in  lofty  sound,  and  humble  sense, 
Even  to  his  little  infants  of  the  time. 
Who  write  new  songs,  and  trust  in  tune  and  rhyme  ; 
Be't  known,  that  Phoebus  (being  daily  grieved 
To  see  good  plays  condemn'd,  and  bad  received) 
Ordains,  your  judgment  upon  every  cause, 
Henceforth,  be  limited  by  wholesome  laws. 
He  first  thinks  fit  no  sonnetteer  advance 
His  censure,  farther  than  the  song  or  dance. 
Your  wit  burlesque  may  one  step  higher  climb. 
And  in  his  sphere  may  judge  all  doggrel  rhyme  ; 
All  proves,  and  moves,  and  loves,  and  honours  too  ; 
All  that  appears  high  sense,  and  scarce  is  low. 
As  for  the  coftee-wits,>he  says  not  much  ; 
Their  proper  business  is  to  damn  the  Dutch : 

For  the  great  dons  of  wit 

Phoebus  gives  them  full  privilege  alone, 

To  damn  all  others,  and  cry  up  their  own. 

Last,  for  the  ladies,  'tis  Apollo's  will. 

They  should  have  power  to  save,  but  not  to  kill ; 

For  love  and  he  long  since  have  thought  it  fit^ 

Wit  live  by  beauty,  beauty  reign  by  wit. 


,  EPILOGUES. 

TO  «  THE  WILD  GALLANT," 

WHEN  REVIVED. 

Of  all  dramatic  writing,  comic  wit, 

As  'tis  the  best,  so  'tis  most  hard  to  hit. 

!For  it  lies  all  in  level  to  the  eye, 

Where  all  may  judge,  and  each  defect  may  spy. 

Humour  is  that,  which  every  day  we  meet, 

And  therefore  known  as  every  public  street ; 

In  which,  if  e'er  the  poet  go  astray, 

You  all  can  point,  'twas  there  he  lost  his  way. 

But,  what's  so  common,  to  make  pleasant  too, 

Is  more  than  any  wit  can  always  do. 

For  'tis  Hke  Turks,  with  hen  and  rice  to  treat ; 

To  make  regalios  out  of  common  meat. 

But,  in  your  diet,  you  grow  savages  : 

Nothing  but  human  flesh  your  taste  can  please  ; 

And,  as  their  feasts  with  slaughter'd  slaves  began, 

So  you,  at  each  new  play,  must  have  a  man. 

Hither  you  come,  as  to  see  prizes  fought ; 

If  no  blood 's  drawn,  you  cry,  the  prize  is  nought. 

But  fools  grow  wary  now  ;  and,  when  they  see 

A  poet  eyeing  round  the  company, 

Straight  each  man  for  himself  begins  to  doubt ; 

They  shrink  like  seamen  when  a  press  comes  out. 

Few  of  them  will  be  found  for  public  use, 

Except  you  charge  an  oaf  upon  each  house. 

Like  the  train  bands,  and  every  man  engage 

For  a  sufficient  fool,  to  serve  the  stage. 

And  when,  with  much  ado,  you  get  him  there, 

Where  he  in  all  his  glory  should  appear, 

Your  poets  make  him  such  rare  things  to  say. 

That  he 's  more  wit  1  han  any  man  i'  the  play ! 

But  of  so  iU  a  mingle  with  the  rest. 

As  when  a  parrot's  taught  to  break  a  jest. 

Thus,  aiming  to  be  fine,  they  make  a  show, 

As  tawdry  squires  in  country  churches  do. 

Things  well  consider' d,  'tis  so  hard  to  make 

A  comedy,  which  should  the  knowing  take, 

That  our  dull  poet,  in  despair  to  please. 

Does  humbly  beg,  by  me,  his  writ  of  ease. 

*Tis  a  land-tax,  which  he's  too  poor  to  pay  ; 

You  therefore  must  some  other  impost  lay. 


484  EPILOGUES. 

Would  you  but  change,  for  serious  plot  and  verse, 
This  motley  garniture  of  fool  and  farce, 
Nor  scorn  a  mode,  because  'tis  taught  at  home. 
"Which  does,  like  vests,  our  gravity  become. 
Our  poet  yields  you  should  this  play  refuse  : 
A  s  tradesmen,  by  the  change  of  fashions,  lose, 
With  some  content,  their  fripperies  of  France, 
In  hope  it  may  their  staple  trade  advance. 


TO  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  "THE  CONQUEST  OP 
GRANADA." 

Thet,  who  have  best  succeeded  on  the  stage,  >^  * 

Have  still  conform'd  their  genius  to  their  age.  / 

Thus  Jonson  did  mechanic  humour  show, 

When  men  were  dull,  and  conversation  low. 

Then  comedy  was  faultless,  but  'twas  coarse : 

Cobb's  tankard  was  a  jest,  and  Otter's  horse. 

And,  as  their  comedy,  their  love  was  mean  ; 

Except,  by  chance,  in  some  one  labour'd  scene, 

Which  must  atone  for  an  ill-written  play. 

They  rose,  but  at  their  height  could  seldom  stay. 

Fame  then  was  cheap,  and  the  first  comer  sped  ; 

And  they  have  kept  it  since,  by  being  dead. 

But,  were  they  now  to  write,  when  oxitics  weigh 

Each  hne,  and  every  word,  throughout  a  play, 

None  of  them,  no,  not  Jonson  in  his  height, 

Could  pass,  without  allowing  grains  for  weight. 

Think  it  not  envy,  that  these  truths  are  told ; 

Our  poet's  not  malicious,  though  he's  bold. 

'Tis  not  to  brand  them,  that  their  faults  are  shown, 

But,  by  their  errors,  to  excuse  his  own. 

If  love  and  honour  now  are  higher  raised, 

Tis  not  the  poet,  but  the  age  is  praised.   ../ 

Wit 's  now  arrived  to  a  more  high  degree  ; 

Our  native  language  more  refined  and  free. 

Our  ladies  and  our  men  now  speak  more  wit~^ 

In  conversation,  than  those  poets  writ. 

Then,  one  of  these  is,  consequently,  true ; 

That  what  this  poet  writes  comes  short  of  you, 


EPILOGUES.  48f 

A.nd  imitates  you  ill  (which  most  he  fears), 
Or  else  his  writing  is  not  worse  than  theirs. 
Yet,  though  you  judge  (as  sure  the  critics  will) 
That  some  before  him  writ  with  greater  skill, 
In  this  one  praise  he  has  their  fame  surpassed, 
To  please  an  age  more  gallant  than  the  last. 


TO  "AlIBOYNA." 

A  POET  once  the  Spartans  led  to  fight, 

And  made  them  conquer  in  the  muse's  right ; 

So  would  our  poet  lead  you  on  this  day. 

Showing  your  tortured  fathers  in  this  play. 

To  one  well-born  the  affront  is  worse,  and  more, 

When  he 's  abused,  and  baffled  by  a  boor : 

With  an  ill  grace  the  Dutch  their  mischiefs  do, 

They've  both  ill-nature  and  ill-manners  too. 

Well  may  they  boast  themselves  an  ancient  nation, 

For  they  were  bred  ere  manners  were  in  fashion  ; 

And  their  new  commonwealth  has  set  them  free, 

Only  from  honour  and  civility. 

Venetians  do  not  more  uncouthly  ride. 

Than  did  their  lubber-state  mankind  bestride  ; 

Their  sway  became  them  with  as  ill  a  mien. 

As  their  own  pa*unches  swell  above  their  chin : 

Yet  is  their  empire  no  true  growth,  but  humour, 

And  only  two  kings'  touch  can  cure  the  tumour. 

As  Cato  did  his  Afric  fruits  display. 

So  we  before  your  eyes  their  Indies  lay : 

All  loyal  EngUsh  will,  hke  him,  conclude. 

Let  Csesar  Hve,  and  Carthage  be  subdued ! 


INTENDED  TO  HAVE  BEEN  SPOKEN  BY  THE 
LADY  HEN.  MAR.  WENTWORTH, 

WHEN    "CALISTO"  WAS    ACTED   AT  COURT. 

As  Jupiter  I  made  my  court  in  vain  ; 
I  '11  now  assume  my  native  shape  again. 
I  'm  weary  to  be  so  imkindly  used, 
And  would  not  be  a  god,  to  be  refiised. 
43 


486  EPILOGUES. 

State  grows  uneasy  when  it  hinders  love  ; 

A  glorious  burden,  which  the  wise  remove. 

Now,  as  a  nymph,  I  need  not  sue,  nor  try 

The  force  of  any  lightning  but  the  eye. 

Beauty  and  youth  more  than  a  god  command  ; 

No  Jove  could  e'er  the  force  of  these  withstand. 

'Tis  here  that  sovereign  power  admits  dispute  ; 

Beauty  sometimes  is  justly  absolute. 

Our  sullen  Catos,  whatsoe'er  they  say. 

Even  while  they  frown  and  dictate  laws,  obey. 

You,  mighty  sir,  our  bonds  more  easy  make, 

And  gracefully,  what  all  must  suffer,  take  ; 

Above  those  forms  the  grave  affect  to  wear ; 

For  'tis  not  to  be  wise  to  be  severe. 

True  wisdom  may  some  gallantry  admit, 

And  soften  business  with  the  charms  of  wit. 

These  peaceful  triumphs  with  your  cares  you  bought, 

And  from  the  midst  of  fighting  nations  brought. 

You  only  hear  it  thunder  from  afar. 

And  sit  in  peace  the  arbiter  of  war  : 

Peace,  the  loathed  manna,  which  hot  brains  despise, 

You  knew  its  worth,  and  made  it  early  prize  ; 

And  in  its  happy  leisure  sit  and  see 

The  promises  of  more  fehcity ; 

Two  glorious  nymphs  of  your  own  godlike  line. 

Whose  morning  rays  like  noontide  strike  and  shine  : 

Whom  you  to  supphant  monarchs  shall  dispose, 

To  bind  your  friends,  and  to  disarm  your  foes. 


TO  «THE  MAN  OF  MODE;  OE,  SIR  FOPLING 
FLUTTER." 

[by  sir  GEORGE  ETHEREGE,  1676.] 

Most  modern  wits  such  monstrous  fools  have  shown, 
They  seem  not  of  Heaven's  making,  but  their  own. 
Those  nauseous  harlequins  in  farce  may  pass  ; 
But  there  goes  more  to  a  substantial  ass  : 
Something  of  man  must  be  exposed  to  view, 
That,  gallants,  they  may  more  resemble  you. 
Sir  Fopling  is  a  fool  so  nicely  writ. 
The  ladies  would  mistake  him  for  a  wit ; 


EPILOGUES.  487 

And,  when  he  sings,  talks  loud,  and  cocks,  would  cry, 

I  vow,  methinks,  he 's  pretty  company : 

So  brisk,  so  gay,  so  travelled,  so  refined,  s 

As  he  took  pains  to  graff  upon  his  kind. 

True  fops  help  nature's  work,  and  go  to  school, 

To  file  and  finish  God  Almighty's  fool. 

Yet  none  Sir  Fopling  him,  or  him  can  call ; 

He 's  knight  o'  the  shire,  and  represents  ye  alL 

From  each  he  meets  he  culls  whate'er  he  can  ; 

Legion  's  his  name,  a  people  in  a  man. 

His  bulky  folly  gathers  as  it  goes, 

And,  rolling  o'er  you,  like  a  snow-ball  grows. 

His  various  modes  from  various  fathers  follow  ; 

One  taught  the  toss,  and  one  the  new  French  wallow : 

His  sword-knot  this,  his  cravat  that  design' d  ; 

And  this,  the  yard-long  snake  he  twirls  behind. 

From  one  the  sacred  periwig  he  gain'd, 

Which  wind  ne'er  blew,  nor  touch  of  hat  profaned. 

Another's  diving  bow  he  did  adore. 

Which  with  a  shog  casts  all  the  hair  before, 

Till  he  with  full  decorum  brings  it  back. 

And  rises  with  a  water-spaniel  shake. 

As  for  his  songs,  the  ladies'  dear  dehght, 

These  sure  he  took  from  most  of  you  who  write. 

Yet  every  man  is  safe  from  what  he  fear'd ; 

For  no  one  fool  is  hunted  from  the  herd. 


TO  "ALL  FOR  LOVE." 

Poets,  like  disputants,  when  reasons  fail, 
Have  one  sure  refuge  left — and  that 's  to  rail. 
Fop,  coxcomb,  fool,  are  thunder'd  through  the  pit ; 
And  this  is  all  their  equipage  of  wit. 
We  wonder  how  the  devil  this  difference  grows, 
Betwixt  our  fools  in  verse,  and  yours  in  prose  ; 
For,  'faith,  the  quarrel  rightly  understood, 
*Tis  civil  war  with  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 
The  thread-bare  author  hates  the  gaudy  coat ; 
And  swears  at  the  gilt  coach,  but  swears  a-foot ; 
For  'tis  observed  of  every  scribbling  man, 
He  grows  a  fop  as  fast  as  e'er  he  can ; 


488  EPILOGUES. 

Prunes  up,  and  asks  his  oracle,  the  glass, 

If  pink  and  purple  best  become  his  face. 

For  our  poor  wretch,  he  neither  rails  nor  prays ; 

Nor  likes  your  wit  just  as  you  hke  his  plays ; 

He  has  not  yet  so  much  of  Mr.  Bayes. 

He  does  his  best ;  and  if  he  cannot  please, 

Would  quietly  sue  out  his  wri'  of  ease. 

Yet,  if  he  might  his  own  grand  jury  call, 

By  the  fair  sex  he  begs  to  stand  or  fall. 

Let  Caesar's  power  the  men's  ambition  move, 

But  grace  you  him  who  lost  the  world  for  love ! 

Yet  if  some  antiquated  lady  say, 

The  last  age  is  not  copied  in  his  play ; 

Heaven  help  the  man  who  for  that  face  must  drudge, 

Which  only  has  the  wrinkles  of  a  judge. 

Let  not  the  young  and  beauteous  join  with  those  ; 

For  should  you  raise  such  numerous  hosts  of  foes. 

Young  wits  and  sparks  he  to  Ifts  aid  must  call ; 

'Tis  more  than  one  man's  work  to  please  you  all. 


TO  "MITHRIDATES,  KING  OF  PONTUS." 

[by  MR.  N.  LEE,  1678.] 

You  'vE  seen  a  pair  of  faithful  lovers  die  : 
And  much  you  care  ;  for  most  of  you  will  cry, 
'Twas  a  just  judgment  on  their  constancy. 
For,  Heaven  be  thank'd,  we  live  in  such  an  age, 
When  no  man  dies  for  love,  but  on  the  stage  : 
And  e'en  those  martyrs  are  but  rare  in  plays ; 
A  cursed  sign  how  much  true  faith  decays. 
Love  is  no  more  a  violent  desire  ; 
'Tis  a  mere  metaphor,  a  painted  fire. 
In  all  our  sex,  the  name  examined  well, 
'Tis  pride  to  gain,  and  vanity  to  tell. 
In  woman,  'tis  of  subtle  interest  made  : 
Curse  on  the  punk  that  made  it  first  a  trade  ! 
She  first  did  wit's  prerogative  remove. 
And  made  a  fool  presume  to  prate  of  love. 
Let  honour  and  preferment  go  for  gold  ; 
But  glorious  beauty  is  not  to  be  sold : 


EPILOGUES. 

Or,  if  it  be,  'tis  at  a  rate  so  high, 

That  nothing  but  adoring  it  should  buy. 

Yet  the  rich  cuUies  may  their  boasting  spar6 ; 

They  purchase  but  sophisticated  ware. 

'Tis  prodigahty  that  buys  deceit, 

Where  both  the  giver  and  the  taker  cheat. 

Men  but  refine  on  the  old  half-crown  way ; 

And  women  fight,  Hke  Swissers,  for  their  pay. 


TO  «  OEDIPUS." 

What  Sophocles  could  undertake  alone. 

Our  poets  found  a  work  for  more  than  one ; 

And  therefore  two  lay  tugging  at  the  piece. 

With  all  their  force,  to  draw  the  ponderous  mass  from 

Greece ; 
A  weight  that  bent  even  Seneca's  strong  muse, 
And  which  Corneille's  shoulders  did  refuse. 
So  hard  it  is  tho  Athenian  harp  to  string! 
So  much  two  consuls  yield  to  one  just  king. 
Terror  and  pity  this  whole  poem  sway ; 
The  mightiest  machines  that  can  mount  a  play. 
How  heavy  will  those  vulgar  souls  be  found, 
Whom  two  such  engines  cannot  move  from  ground  ! 
When  Greece  and  Rome  have  smiled  upon  this  birth, 
You  can  but  damn  for  one  poor  spot  of  earth, 
And  when  your  children  find  your  judgment  such. 
They'll  scorn  their  sires,  and  wish  themselves  bom  Du* 
Each  haughty  poet  will  infer  with  ease. 
How  much  his  wit  must  under- write  to  pleaso. 
As  some  strong  churl  would,  brandishing,  advance 
The  monumental  sword  that  conquer'd  France  ; 
So  you,  by  judging  this,  your  judgment  teach, 
Thus  far  you  like,  that  is,  thus  far  you  reach. 
Since  then  the  vote  of  full  two  thousand  years 
Has  crown'd  this  plot,  and  all  the  dead  are  theirs, 
Think  it  a  debt  you  pay,  not  alms  you  give. 
And,  in  your  own  defence,  let  this  Play  hve. 
Think  them  not  vain,  when  Sophocles  is  shown 
To  praise  his  worth  they  humbly  doubt  their  own. 
Yet  as  weak  states  each  other's  power  assure, 
Weak  poets  by  conjunction  are  secure. 
43* 


490  EPILOGUES. 

Their  treat  is  what  your  palates  relish  most, 
Charm  !  song !  and  show  !  a  murder  and  a  ghost ! 
We  know  not  what  you  can  desire  or  hope, 
To  please  you  more,  but  burning  of  a  Pope. 


FOR  THE  KING'S  HOUSE. 

We  act  by  fits  and  starts,  like  drowning  men, 
But  just  peep  up,  and  then  pop  down  again. 
Let  those  who  call  us  wicked  change  their  sense ; 
For  never  men  lived  more  on  Providence. 
Not  lottery  cavaliers  are  half  so  poor. 
Nor  broken  cits,  nor  a  vacation  whore. 
Not  courts,  nor  courtiers  Uving  on  the  rents 
Of  the  three  last  ungiving  parliaments  : 
So  wretched,. that,  if  Pharaoh  could  divine. 
He  might  have  spared  his  dream  of  seven  lean  kine, 
And  changed  his  vision  for  the  Muses  nine. 
The  comet,  that,  they  say,  portends  a  dearth. 
Was  but  a  vapour  drawn  from  play-house  earth  : 
Pent  there  since  our  last  fire,  and,  Lilly  says, 
Foreshows  our  change  of  state,  and  thin  third-daya 
'Tis  not  our  want  of  wit  that  keeps  us  poor ; 
For  then  the  printer's  press  would  sufier  more. 
Their  pamphleteers  each  day  their  venom  spit ; 
They  thrive  by  treason,  and  we  starve  by  wit. 
Confess  the  truth,  which  of  you  has  not  laid 
Four  farthings  out  to  buy  the  Hatfield  maid  ? 
Or,  which  is  duller  yet,  and  more  would  spite  us, 
Democritus  his  wars  with  Heraclitus  ? 
Such  are  the  authors,  who  have  run  us  down. 
And  exercised  you  critics  of  the  town. 
Yet  these  are  pearls  to  your  lampooning  rhymes, 
Y'  abuse  yourselves  more  dully  than  the  times. 
Scandal,  the  glory  of  the  English  nation. 
Is  worn  to  rags,  and  scribbled  out  of  fashion. 
Such  harmless  thrusts,  as  if,  like  fencers  wise. 
They  had  agreed  their  play  before  their  prize. 
Faith,  they  may  hang  their  harps  upon  the  willows ; 
Tis  just  like  children  when  they  box  with  piUows. 


EPILOGUES.    .  491 

Then  put  an  end  to  civil  wars  for  shame ; 
Lot  each  knight-errant,  who  has  wrong'd  a  dame, 
Throw  down  his  pen,  and  give  her,  as  he  can, 
The  satisfaction  of  a  gentleman. 


SPOKEN"  AT  THE  ACTING  OF  "THE  SILENT 
WOMAN." 

No  poor  Dutch  peasant,  wing'd  with  all  his  fear, 

Flies  with  more  haste,  when  the  French  arms  draw  near. 

Than  we  with  our  poetic  train  come  down, 

For  refuge  hither,  from  the  infected  town : 

Heaven  for  our  sins  this  summer  has  thought  fit 

To  visit  us  with  aU  the  plagues  of  wit. 

A  French  troop  first  swept  aU  things  in  its  way ; 

But  those  hot  Monsieurs  were  too  quick  to  stay  : 

Yet,  to  our  cost,  in  that  short  time,  we  find 

They  left  their  itch  of  novelty  behind. 

The  Italian  merry-andrews  took  their  place, 

And  quite  debauch'd  the  stage  with  lewd  grimace : 

Instead  of  wit,  and  humours,  your  delight 

Was  there  to  see  two  hobby-horses  fight ; 

Stout  Scaramoucha  with  rush  lance  rode  in, 

And  ran  a  tilt  at  centaur  Arlequin. 

For  love  you  heard  how  amorous  asses  bray'd. 

And  cats  in  gutters  gave  their  serenade. 

Nature  was  out  of  countenance,  and  each  day 

Some  new-bom  monster  shown  you  for  a  play. 

But  when  all  fail'd,  to  strike  the  stage  quite  dumb. 

Those  wicked  engines  call'd  machines  are  come. 

Thunder  and  Ughtning  now  for  wit  are  play'd, 

And  shortly  scenes  in  Lapland  will  be  laid : 

Art  magic  is  for  poetry  profess'd  ; 

And  cats  and  dogs,  and  each  obscener  beast, 

To  which  ^Egyptian  dotards  once  did  bow, 

Upon  our  English  stage  are  worshipp'd  now. 

Witchcraft  reigns  there,  and  raises  to  renown 

Macbeth  and  Simon  Magus  of  the  town  ; 

Fletcher 's  despised,  your  Jonson  's  out  of  fashion, 

And  wit  the  only  drug  in  aU  the  nation. 


492  EPILOGUES. 

In  this  low  ebb  our  wares  to  you  are  shown  ; 
By  you  those  staple  authors'  worth  is  known ; 
For  wit 's  a  manufacture  of  your  own. 
When  you,  who  only  can,  their  scenes  have  praised, 
We  '11  boldly  back,  and  say,  their  price  is  raised. 


SPOKEN  AT  OXFORD,  BY  MRS.  MARSHALL. 

Oft  has  our  poet  wish'd,  this  happy  seat 
Might  prove  his  fading  Muse's  last  retreat : 
I  wonder'd  at  his  wish,  but  now  I  find 
He  sought  for  quiet,  and  content  of  mind  ; 
Which  noiseful  towns,  and  courts  can  never  know, 
And  only  in  the  shades  like  laurels  grow. 
Youth,  ere  it  sees  the  world,  here  studies  rest, 
And  age  returning  thence  concludes  it  best. 
What  wonder  if  we  court  that  happiness 
Yearly  to  share,  which  hourly  you  possess. 
Teaching  e'en  you,  while  the  vex'd  world  we  show 
Your  peace  to  value  more,  and  better  know  ? 
'Tis  all  we  can  return  for  favours  past, 
Whose  holy  memory  shall  ever  last. 
For  patronage  from  him  whose  care  presides 
O'er  every  noble  art,  and  every  science  guides : 
Bathurst,  a  name  the  learn'd  with  reverence  know. 
And  scarcely  more  to  his  own  Virgil  owe  ; 
Whose  age  enjoys  but  what  his  youth  deserved, 
To  rule  those  Muses  whom  before  he  served. 
His  learning,  and  untainted  manners  too, 
We  find,  Athenians,  are  derived  to  you : 
Such  ancient  hospitality  there  rests 
In  yours,  as  dwelt  in  the  first  Grecian  breasts, 
Whose  kindness  was  religion  to  their  guests. 
Such  modesty  did  to  our  sex  appear. 
As,  had  there  been  no  laws,  we  need  not  fear. 
Since  each  of  you  was  our- protector  here. 
Converse  so  chaste,  and  so  strict  virtue  shown, 
As  might  Apollo  with  the  Muses  own. 
Till  our  return,  we  must  despair  to  find 
Judges  so  just,  so  knowing,  and  so  kind. 


EPILOaUES.  493 


TO  « ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS." 

After  our  -^sop's  fable  shown  to-day, 

I  come  to  give  the  moral  of  the  play. 

Feign 'd  Zeal,  you  saw,  set  out  the  speedier  pace  ; 

]But  the  last  heat,  Plain  Dealing  won  the  race ; 

Plain  Dealing  for  a  jewel  has  been  known ; 

But  ne'er  till  now  the  jewel  of  a  crown. 

When  Heaven  made  man,  to  show  the  work  divine, 

Truth  was  his  image,  stamp'd  upon  the  coin  : 

And  when  a  king  is  to  a  god  relined. 

On  all  he  says  and  does  he  stamps  his  mind : 

This  proves  a  soul  without  alloy,  and  pure  ; 

Kings,  like  their  gold,  should  every  touch  endure. 

To  dare  in  fields  is  valour  ;  but  how  few 

Dare  be  so  throughly  valiant, — to  be  true ! 

The  name  of  great,  let  other  kings  affect : 

He  's  great  indeed,  the  prince  that  is  direct. 

His  subjects  know  him  now,  and  trust  him  more 

Than  all  their  kings,  and  all  their  laws  before. 

What  safety  could  their  public  acts  afford  ? 

Those  he  can  break  ;  but  cannot  break  his  word. 

So  great  a  trust  to  him  alone  was  due ; 

Well  have  they  trusted  whom  so  well  they  knew. 

The  saint,  who  walk'd  on  waves,  securely  trod, 

While  he  beUeved  the  beck'ning  of  his  God  ; 

But  when  his  faith  no  longer  bore  him  out, 

Began  to  sink,  as  he  began  to  doubt. 

Let  us  our  native  character  maintain  ; 

'Tis  of  our  growth,  to  be  sincerely  plain. 

To  excel  in  truth  we  loyally  may  strive, 

Set  privilege  against  prerogative : 

He  pHghts  his  faith,  and  we  beUeve  him  just ; 

His  honour  is  to  promise,  ours  to  trust. 

Thus  Britain's  basis  on  a  word  is  laid, 

As  by  a  word  the  world  itself  was  made. 


494  EPILOGUES. 

TO  «  HENRY  II." 

[by  MR.  MOUNTFORT,  1693.]  SPOKEN  BY  MBS.  BRACEGIRDL* 

Thus  you  the  sad  catastrophe  have  seen, 

Occasion' d  by  a  mistress  and  a  queen. 

Queen  Eleanor  the  proud  was  French,  they  say  ; 

But  English  manufacture  got  the  day. 

Jane  Clifford  was  her  name,  as  books  aver : 

Fair  Rosamond  was  but  her  nom  de  guerre. 

Now  tell  me,  gallants,  would  you  lead  your  hfe 

"With  such  a  mistress,  or  with  such  a  wife  ? 

If  one  must  be  your  choice,  which  d'  ye  approve, 

The  curtain  lecture,  or  the  curtain  love  ? 

Would  ye  be  godly  with  perpetual  strife, 

Still  drudging  on  with  homely  Joan  your  wife  ; 

Or  take  your  pleasure  in  a  wicked  way, 

Like  honest  whoring  Harry  in  the  play  ? 

I  guess  your  minds :  the  mistress  would  be  taken, 

And  nauseous  matrimony  seni  a  packing. 

The  devil's  in  you  all ;  mankind 's  a  rogue  ; 

You  love  the  bride,  but  you  detest  the  clog. 

After  a  year,  poor  spouse  is  left  i'  the  lurch, 

And  you,  like  Haynes,  return  to  mother-Church. 

Or,  if  the  name  of  Church  comes  cross  your  mind, 

Chapels  of  ease  behind  our  scenes  you  find. 

The  playhouse  is  a  kind  of  market-place  ; 

One  chaffers  for  a  voice,  another  for  a  face : 

Nay,  some  of  you,  I  dare  not  say  how  many, 

Would  buy  of  me  a  pen'orth  for  your  penny. 

E'en  this  poor  face,  which  with  my  fan  I  hide, 

Would  make  a  shift  my  portion  to  provide, 

With  some  small  perquisites  I  have  beside. 

Though  for  your  love,  perhaps,  I  should  not  care, 

I  could  not  hate  a  man  that  bids  me  fair.  * 

What  might  ensue,  'tis  hard  for  me  to  tell ; 

But  I  was  drench'd  to-day  for  loving  well, 

And  fear  the  poison  that  would  make  me  swell 


EPILOGUES.  465 


AN  EPILOGUE. 


You  saw  our  wife  was  chaste,  yet  throughly  tried, 

And,  without  doubt,  you're  hugely  edified ; 

For,  like  our  hero,  whom  we  show'd  to-day, 

You  think  no  woman  true,  but  in  a  play. 

Love  once  did  make  a  pretty  kind  of  show  : 

Esteem  and  kindness  in  one  breast  would  grow : 

But  'twas  Heaven  knows  how  many  years  ago. 

Now  some  small  chat,  and  guinea  expectation, 

Gets  all  th#  pretty  creatures  in  the  nation  : 

In  comedy  your  little  selves  you  meet ; 

'Tis  Covent  Garden  drawn  in  Brydges-street. 

Smile  on  our  author  then,  if  he  has  shown 

A  jolly  nut-brown  bastard  of  your  own. 

Ah  !  happy  you,  with  ease  and  with  delight, 

Who  act  those  follies.  Poets  toil  to  write  ! 

The  sweating  Muse  does  almost  leave  the  chace  ; 

She  puffs,  and  hardly  keeps  your  Protean  vices  pace. 

Pinch  you  but  in  one  vice,  a-way  you  fly 

To  some  new  frisk  of  contrariety. 

You  roll  like  snow-balls,  gathering  as  you  run, 

And  get  seven  devils,  when  dispossessed  of  one. 

Your  Venus  once  was  a  Platonic  queen ; 

Nothing  of  love  beside  the  face  was  seen ; 

But  every  inch  of  her  you  now  uncase. 

And  clap  a  vizard-mask  upon  the  face. 

For  sins  like  these,  the  zealous  of  the  land, 

With  Httle  hair,  and  little  or  no  band, 

Declare  how  circulating  pestilences 

Watch,  every  twenty  years,  to  snap  offences. 

Saturn,  e'en  now,  takes  doctoral  degrees ; 

He  '11  do  your  work  this  summer  without  fees. 

Let  all  the  boxes,  Phoebus,  find  thy  grace. 

And,  ah,  preserve  the  eighteen-penny  place  ! 

But  for  the  pit  confounders,  let  'em  go. 

And  find  as  little  mercy  as  they  show : 

The  Actors  thus,  and  thus  thy  Poets  pray : 

For  every  critic  saved,  thou  damn'st  a  play. 


496  EPILO(5UE8. 


TO  «  THE  HUSBAND  HIS  OWN  CUCKOLD.' 

Like  some  raw  sophister  that  mounts  the  pulpit, 
So  trembles  a  young  Poet  at  a  full  pit. 
Unused  to  crowds,  the  Parson  quakes  for  fear, 
And  wonders  how  the  devil  he  durst  come  there ; 
Wanting  three  talents  needful  for  the  place, 
Some  beard,  some  learning,  and  some  little  grace : 
Nor  is  the  puny  Poet  void  of  care ; 
For  authors,  such  as  our  new  authors  are, 
Have  not  much  learning,  nor  much  wit  to  spare : 
And  as  for  grace,  to  tell  the  truth,  there 's  scarce  one, 
But  has  as  little  as  the  very  Parson  : 
Both  say,  they  preach  and  write  for  your  instruction : 
Bat  'tis  for  a  third  day,  and  for  induction. 
The  difference  is,  that  though  you  like  the  play, 
The  poet's  gain  is  ne'er  beyond  his  day. 
But  with  the  Parson  'tis  another  case, 
He,  without  holiness,  may  rise  to  grace ; 
The  Poet  has  one  disadvantage  more. 
That,  if  his  play  be  dull,  he's  damn'd  all  o'er, 
Not  only  a  damn'd  blockhead,  but  damn'd  poor. 
But  dulness  well  becomes  the  sable  garment ; 
I  warrant  that  ne'er  spoil'd  a  Priest's  preferment : 
Wit's  not  his  business,  and  as  wit  now  goes, 
Sirs,  'tis  not  so  much  yours  as  you  suppose. 
For  you  like  nothing  now  but  nauseous  beaux. 
You  laugh  not,  gallants,  as  by  proof  appears, 
At  what  his  beauship  says,  but  what  he  wears ; 
'  So  'tis  your  eyes  are  tickled,  not  your  ears : 
The  tailor  and  the  farrier  find  the  stuff, 
The  wit  lies  in  the  dress,  and  monstrous  muff. 
The  truth  on 't  is,  the  payment  of  the  pit 
Is  like  for  like,  dipt  money  for  dipt  wit. 
You  cannot  from  our  absent  author  hope, 
He  should  equip  the  stage  with  such  a  fop : 
Fools  change  in  England,  and  new  fools  arise, 
For  though  the  immortal  species  never  dies, 
Yet  every  year  new  maggots  make  new  flies. 
But  where  he  lives  abroad,  he  scarce  can  find 
One  fool,  for  million  that  he  left  behind. 


EPILOGUES.  497 


TO  "THE  PILGRIM." 


Perhaps  the  parson  stretch'd  a  point  too  far, 
When  with  our  Theatres  he  waged  a  war. 
He  tells  you,  that  this  very  moral  age 
Received  the  first  infection  from  the  Stage. 
But  sure,  a  banish'd  court,  with  lewdness  fraught, 
The  seeds  of  open  vice,  returning,  brought. 
Thus  lodged  (as  vice  by  great  example  thrives) 
It  first  debauch'd  the  daughters  and  the  wives. 
London,  a  fruitful  soil,  yet  never  bore 
So  plentiful  a  crop  of  horns  before. 
The  Poets,  who  must  five  by  courts,  or  starve, 
Were  proud  so  good  a  government  to  serve ; 
And,  mixing  with  buffoons  and  pimps  profane, 
Tainted  the  Stage,  for  some  small  snip  of  gain. 
For  they,  Hke  harlots,  under  bawds  profess'd. 
Took  all  the  ungodly  pains,  and  got  the  least. 
Thus  did  the  thriving  malady  prevail. 
The  court,  its  head,  the  Poets  but  the  tail. 
The  sin  was  in  our  native  growth,  'tis  true  ; 
The  scandal  of  the  sin  was  wholly  new. 
Misses  they  were,  but  modestly  conceard  ; 
Whitehall  the  naked  Venus  first  reveaPd. 
Who  standing  as  at  Cyprus,  in  her  shrine. 
The  strumpet  was  adored  with  rites  divine. 
Ere  this,  if  saints  had  any  secret  motion, 
Twas  chamber-practice  all,  and  close  devotion. 
I  pass  the  peccadillos  of  their  time  ; 
Nothing  but  open  lewdness  was  a  crime. 
A  monarch's  blood  was  venial  to  the  nation, 
Compared  with  one  foul  act  of  fornication. 
Novr,  they  would  silence  us,  and  shut  the  door 
That  let  in  all  the  barefaced  vice  before. 
As  for  reforming  us,  which  some  pretend, 
That  work  in  England  is  without  an  end : 
Well  may  we  change,  but  we  shall  never  mend. 
Yet,  if  you  can  but  bear  the  present  Stage, 
We  hope  much  better  of  the  coming  age. 
What  would  you  say,  if  we  should  first  begin 
To  stop  the  trade  of  love  behind  the  scene  : 
Where  actresses  make  bold  with  married  men  ? 
44 


498  ALEXANDER'S  FEAST. 

For  while  abroad  so  prodigal  the  dolt  is, 

Poor  spouse  at  home  as  ragged  as  a  colt  is. 

In  short,  we'll  grow  as  moral  as  we  can, 

Save  here  and  there  a  woman  or  a  man : 

But  neither  you,  nor  we,  with  all  our  pains. 

Can  make  clean  work  ;  there  will  be  some  remains, 

While  you  have  still  your  Gates,  and  we  our  Hains. 


ODES,   SONGS, 


ALEXANDER'S  FEAST;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC: 

AN  ODE  IN  HONOUR  OF  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

'TwAS  at  the  royal  feast,  for  Persia  won 
By  Philip's  warlike  son  : 
Aloft  in  awful  state 
The  god-like  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne  : 
His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around. 
Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound ; 
(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crown' d.) 
The  lovely  Thais,  by  his  side, 
Sate  Hke  a  blooming  Eastern  bride 
In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride. 
Happy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  £Eur. 

CHORUS. 

Happy,  happy,  happy  pair ! 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave. 
None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fiiir* 


AN  ODE  ON  SAINT  CECILIA'S  DAT.  499 

Timotheus,  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  choir, 
With  flying  fingers  touch'd  the  lyre : 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky, 

And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 
The  song  began  from  Jove, 
Who  loft  his  blissful  seats  above, 
(Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love.) 
A  dragon's  fiery  form  behed  the  god : 
Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode, 
When  he  to  fair  Olympia  press'd : 
And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  breast : 
Then  round  her  slender  waist  he  curl'd. 
And  stamp  d  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign  of  the  world. 
The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound, 
A  present  deity !  they  shout  around  : 
A  present  deity !  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound. 
With  ravish 'd  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god. 
Affects  to  nod. 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

CHORUS. 

With  ravish'd  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god. 
Affects  to  nod, 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 

The  praise  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician  sung, 
Of  Bacchus — ever  fair  and  ever  young  : 
The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes  ; 
Sound  the  trumpets  ;  beat  the  drums : 
Flush'd  with  a  purple  grace 
He  shows  his  honest  face  : 
Now  give  the  hautboys  breath.    He  comes !  he  comes ! 
Bacchus,  ever  fair  and  young, 

Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain  ; 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure. 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure : 
Kich  the  treasure, 
Sweet  the  pleasure. 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 
KK  2 


500  AN  ODE  ON  SAINT  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

CHORUS. 

Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure : 

Rich  the  treasure, 

Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  after  pain. 

Soothed  with  the  sound  the  king  grew  vain ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again  : 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes ;  and  thrice  he  slew  the 
slain. 
The  master  saw  the  madness  rise  ; 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And,  while  he  heaven  and  earth  defied, 
Changed  his  hand,  and  check'd  his  pride. 
He  chose  a  mournful  muse 
Soft  pity  to  infuse  : 
He  sung  Darius,  great  and  good  ; 

By  too  severe  a  fate, 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen. 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate, 

And  welt'ring  in  his  blood  ; 
Deserted,  at  his  utmost  need. 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed  ; 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies, 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor  sate, 
Bevolving  in  his  alter'd  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below ; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole  ; 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

CHORUS. 

Revolving  in  his  alter'd  soul 

The  various  turns  of  chance  below  ; 
And,  now  and  then,  a  sigh  he  stole ; 

And  tears  began  to  flow. 

The  mighty  master  smiled,  to  see 
That  love  was  in  the  next  degree  ; 
'Twas  but  a  kindred-sound  to  move, 
For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 

Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures, 

Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 


AN  ODE   ON  SAINT   CECILIA'S  DAT.  601 

War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble  ; 
Honour,  but  an  empty  bubble  ; 
Never  ending,  still  beginning. 
Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying : 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 
Think,  oh  think  it  worth  enjoying : 
Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee, 
Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee. 
The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause ; 
So  Love  was  crown' d,  but  Music  won  the  cause. 
The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Glazed  on  the  fair 
"Who  caused  his  care, 
And  sigh'd  and  look'd,  sigh'd  and  look'd, 
Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again  : 
At  length,  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppressed, 
The  vanquish'd  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

CHORUS. 

The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 
Gazed  on  the  fair 
Who  caused  his  care. 
And  sigh'd  and  look'd,  sigh'd  and  looked, 
Sigh'd  and  look'd,  and  sigh'd  again  : 
At'length  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppress'd, 
The  vanquish'd  victor  simk  upon  her  breast. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again : 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain. 
Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder, 
And  rouse  him,  hke  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder. 
Hark,  hark,  the  horrid  soun^ 
Has  raised  up  his  head : 
As  awaked  from  the  dead. 
And  amazed,  he  stares  around. 
Revenge  !  revenge  !  Timotheus  cries, 
See  the  furies  arise  ! 
See  the  snakes  that  they  rear. 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair  ! 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes ! 
Behold  a  ghastly  band, 
Each  a  torch  in  his  hand  ! 
?''hose  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  battle  were  slailiy 
And  unburied  remain, 
Inglorious  on  the  plain : 
44* 


502  AN  ODE  ON  SAINT  CECILIA'S  DAY. 

Give  the  vengeance  due 

To  the  valiant  crew. 
Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 
ilow  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes, 
And  ghttering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 
The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy ; 
And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to  destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way, 

To  light, him  to  his  prey, 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy ! 

CHORUS. 

And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau  with  aeal  to  destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way, 

To  light  him  to  his  prey. 
And,  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy ! 

Thus  long  ago. 
Ere  heaving  bellows  learn'd  to  blow, 
While  organs  yet  were  mute  ; 
Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute, 
And  sounding  lyre. 
Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 
At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 
Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 
Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 
And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 
"With  nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize. 
Or  both  divide  the  crown  ; 
\  He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies  ; 
She  drew  an  angel  down. 

GRAND  CHORUS. 

At  last  divine  Ceciha  came, 

Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 
The  sweet  enthusiast,  from  her  sacred  store, 

Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 

And  added  length  to  solemn  soimds, 
With  nature's  mother-wit,  and  arts  unknown  before. 
Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize. 

Or  both  divide  the  crown  ; 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies, 

She  drew  an  angel  down. 


Alexander's  Feast 
"  And  the  king  seized  a  flambeau,  with  zeal  to  destroy."        p.  502. 


SOKOS.  503 

A  SONG  FOR  ST.  CECILIA'S  DAY,  1687. 

From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony, 

This  universal  frame  began  : 

When  nature  underneath  a  heap 

Of  jarring  atoms  lay, 
And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high, 

Arise,  ye  more  than  dead. 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry. 
In  order  to  their  stations  leap, 
And  Music's  power  obey. 
From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony 
This  universal  frame  began  : 
From  harmony  to  harmony, 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran, 
The  diapason  closing  fuU  in  Man. 

What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  1 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell. 
His  hstening  brethren  stood  arouad. 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  feU 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 
Less  than  a  God  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell. 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 
What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  ? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms. 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger, 

And  mortal  alarms. 
The  double  double  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum 

Cries,  hark  !  the  foes  come  ; 
Charge,  charge,  'tis  too  late  to  retreat. 

The  soft  complaining  flute 
In  dying  notes  discovers 
The  woes  of  hopeless  lovers, 
Whose  dirge  is  whisper'd  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 
Their  jealous  pangs,  and  desperation, 
Fury,  frantic  indignation, 
Depth  of  pains,  and  height  of  passion, 

For  the  fair,  disdainful,  dame. 


504 


But  oh  !  what  art  can  teach, 

What  human  voice  can  reach, 
The  sacred  organ's  praise  '? 
Notes  inspiring  holy  love, 
Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 
To  mend  the  choirs  above. 
Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race ; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre  : 
But  bright  Ceciha  raised  the  wonder  higher  ; 
When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  was  given, 
An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appear'd 
Mistaking  earth  for  heaven. 

GRAND   CHORUS. 

As  from  the  power  of  sacred  lays 
The  spheres  began  to  move. 
And  simg  the  great  Creator's  praise 

To  all  the  bless'd  above  ; 
So  when  the  last  and  dreadful  hour 
This  crumbhng  pageant  shall  devour, 
The  trumpet  shall  be  heard  on  high, 
The  dead  shall  live,  the  living  die, 
And  Music  shall  untune  the  sky. 


THE  FAIR  STEANGER : 

ADDRESSED  TO   LOUISA   QUEROUAILLE,  AFTERWARDS 
DUCHESS  OP   PORTSMOUTH. 

A  SONG. 

Happy  and  free,  securely  blest, 

No  beauty  could  disturb  my  rest ; 

My  amorous  heart  was  in  despair. 

To  find  a  new  victorious  fair : 

Till  you  descending  on  our  plains. 

With  foreign  force  renew  my  chains  ; 

Where  now  you  rule  without  control 

The  mighty  sovereign  of  my  souL 

Your  smiles  have  more  of  conquering  charmfly 

Than  all  your  native  country  arms  : 

Their  troops  we  can  expel  with  ease. 

Who  vanquish  only  when  we  please, 


SONGS.  SOU 


But  in  your  eyes,  oh  !  there's  the  spell, 
Who  can  see  them,  and  not  rebel  1 
You  make  us  captives  by  your  stay, 
Yet  kill  us  if  you  go  away. 


ON  THE  YOUNG  STATESMEN. 

Clarendon  had  law  and  sense, 

Clifford  was  fierce  and  brave  ; 
Bennet's  grave  look  was  a  pretence, 
And  Danby's  matchless  impudence 
Help'd  to  support  the  knave. 

But  Sunderland,  Godolphin,  Lory, 
These  will  appear  such  chits  in  story, 

'Twill  turn  all  poUtics  to  jests, 
To  be  repeated  Hke  John  Dory, 

When  fiddlers  sing  at  feasts. 

Protect  us,  mighty  Providence, 

What  would  these  madmen  have  ? 
First,  they  would  bribe  us  without  pence. 
Deceive  us  without  common  sense. 
And  without  power  enslave. 

Shall  free-bom  men,  in  humble  awe. 

Submit  to  servile  shame  ; 
Who  from  consent  and  custom  draw 
The  same  right  to  be  ruled  by  law. 

Which  kings  pretend  to  reign  ? 

The  duke  shall  wield  his  conquering  sword, 

The  chancellor  make  a  speech. 
The  king  shall  pass  his  honest  word. 
The  pawn'd  revenue  sums  afford. 
And  then,  come  kiss  my  breech. 

So  have  I  seen  a  king  on  chess 

(His  ro^s  and  knights  withdrawn, 
His  queen  aiid  bishops  in  distress) 
Shifting  about,  grow  less  and  less, 
With  here  and  there  a  pawn. 


506  SONGS. 


Jj'arewell,  fair  Armida,  my  joy  and  my  grief, 
In  vain  I  have  loved  you,  and  hope  no  relief ; 
Undone  by  our  virtue,  too  strict  and  severe, 
Your  eyes  gave  me  love,  and  you  gave  me  despair : 
Now  call'd  by  my  honour,  I  seek  with  content 
The  fate  which  in  pity  you  would  not  prevent : 
To  languish  in  love,  were  to  find  by  delay 
A  death  that 's  more  welcome  the  speediest  way. 

On  seas  and  in  battles,  in  bullets  and  fire. 
The  danger  is  less  than  in  hopeless  desire  ; 
My  death's  wound  you  give,  though  far  off  I  bear 
My  fall  from  your  sight — not  to  cost  you  a  tear  : 
But  if  the  kind  flood  on  a  wave  should  convey 
And  under  your  window  my  body  should  lay, 
The  wound  on  my  breast  when  you  happen  to  see, 
You'll  say  with  a  sigh — it  was  given  by  me. 


A  CHOIR  of  bright  beauties  in  spring  did  appear, 

To  choose  a  May-lady  to  govern  the  year ; 

All  the  nymphs  were  in  white,  and  the  shepherds  ingreon ; 

The  garland  was  given,  and  Phillis  was  queen : 

But  Phillis  refused  it,  and  sighing  did  say, 

I  '11  not  wear  a  garland  while  Pan  is  away. 

"While  Pan  and  fair  Syrinx  are  fled  from  our  shore, 
The  Graces  are  banish'd,  and  Love  is  no  more : 
The  soft  god  of  pleasure,  that  warm'd  our  desires. 
Has  broken  his  bow,  and  extinguish'd  his  fires : 
And  vows  that  himself,  and  his  mother,  will  mourn, 
'Till  Pan  and  fair  Syrinx  in  triumph  return. 

Forbear  your  addresses,  and  court  us  no  more. 
For  we  will  perform  what  the  deity  swore : 
But  if  you  dare  think  of  deserving  our  charms. 
Away  with  your  sheephooks,  and  take  to  your  arms : 
Then  laurels  and  myrtles  your  brows  shall  adorn, 
When  Pan,  and  his  son,  and  fair  Syrinx,  return. 


607 


Fair,  sweet,  and  young,  receive  a  prize 
Reserved  for  your  victorious  eyes : 
From  crowds,  whom  at  your  feet  you  see, 
Oh  pity,  and  distinguish  me  ! 
As  I  from  thousand  beauties  more 
Distinguish  you,  and  only  you  adore. 

Your  face  for  conquest  was  design'd, 
Your  every  motion  charms  my  mind ; 
Angels,  when  you  your  silence  break, 
Forget  their  hynms,  to  hear  you  speak  ; 
But  when  at  once  they  hear  and  view, 
Are  loth  to  mount,  and  long  to  stay  with  you. 

No  graces  can  your  form  improve, 
put  all  are  lost,  unless  you  love ; 
While  that  sweet  passion  you  disdain, 
Your  veil  and  beauty  are  in  vain  : 
In  pity  then  prevent  my  fate, 
For  after  dying  all  reprieve 's  too  late. 


High  state  and  honours  to  others  impart, 

But  give  me  your  heart : 
That  treasure,  that  treasure  alone, 

I  beg  for  my  own. 
So  gentle  a  love,  so  fervent  a  fire. 

My  soul  does  inspire ; 
That  treasure,  that  treasure  alone, 

I  beg  for  my  own. 
Your  love  let  me  crave ; 
Give  me  in  possessing 
So  matchless  a  blessing ; 
That  empire  is  all  I  would  have. 
Love  's  my  petition, 
All  my  ambition ; 
If  e'er  you  discover 
So  faithful  a  lover. 
So  real  a  flame, 
I  '11  die,  I  'U  die, 
So  give  up  my  game. 


508  SONGS. 


Go  tell  Amynta,  gentle  swain, 
I  would  not  die,  nor  dare  complain : 
Thy  tuneful  voice  with  numbers  join. 
Thy  words  will  more  prevail  than  mine, 
To  souls  oppress'd,  and  dumb  with  grie^ 
The  gods  ordain  this  kind  relief ; 
That  music  should  in  sounds  convey, 
What  dying  lovers  dare  not  say. 

A  sigh  or  tear,  perhaps,  she  '11  give, 
But  love  on  pity  cannot  Hve. 
Tell  her  that  hearts  for  hearts  were  made, 
And  love  with  love  is  only  paid. 
Tell  her  my  pains  so  fast  increase. 
That  soon  they  will  be  past  redress  ; 
But  ah  !  the  wretch,  that  speechless  lies, 
Attends  but  death  to  close  his  eyes. 


TO  A  FAIR  YOUNG  LADY, 

GOING  OUT  OF  THE  TOWN  IN  THE  SPRING. 

Ask  not  the  cause,  why  sullen  Spring 
So  long  delays  her  flowers  to  bear ; 

Why  warbling  birds  forget  to  sing, 
And  winter-storms  invert  the  year : 

Chloris  is  gone,  and  fate  provides 

To  make  it  Spring,  where  she  resides. 

Chloris  is  gone,  the  cruel  fair  ; 

She  cast  not  back  a  pitying  eye : 
But  left  her  lover  in  despair, 

To  sigh,  to  languish,  and  to  die  : 
Ah,  how  can  those  fair  eyes  endure 
To  give  the  wounds  they  will  not  cure  ! 

Great  god  of  love,  why  hast  thou  made 
A  face  that  can  all  hearts  command, 

That  all  religions  can  invade. 

And  change  the  laws  of  every  land  ? 

Where  thou  hadst  placed  such  power  before, 

Thou  shouldst  have  made  her  mercy  more. 


VENI   CREATOR  SPIRITUS.  1)09 

When  Chloris  to  the  temple  comes, 

Adoring  crowds  before  her  fall ; 
She  can  restore  the  dead  from  tombs, 

And  every  life  but  mine  recaL 
I  only  am  by  Love  design'd 
To  be  the  victim  for  mankind. 


VENI  CREATOR  SPIRITUS^ 

PARAPHRASED. 

Creator  Spirit,  by  whose  aid 
The  world's  foundations  first  were  laid, 
Come  visit  every  pious  mind  ; 
Come  pour  thy  joys  on  human  kind  ; 
From  sin  and  sorrow  set  us  free, 
And  make  thy  temples  worthy  thee. 

0  source  of  uncreated  light, 
The  Father's  promised  Paraclete  ! 
Thrice  holy  fount,  thrice  holy  firo, 
Our  hearts  with  heavenly  love  inspire ; 
Come,  and  thy  sacred  unction  bring 
To  sanctify  us,  while  we  sing. 

Plenteous  of  grace,  descend  from  high, 
R  ch  in  thy  seven-fold  energy  ! 
Thou  strength  of  his  Almighty  hand, 
Whose  power  does  heaven  and  earth  command. 
Proceeding  Spirit,  our  defence, 
Who  dost  the  gifts  of  tongues  dispense, 
And  crown'st  thy  gift  with  eloquence  ! 
Refine  and  purge  our  earthly  parts  ; 
But,  oh,  inflame  and  fire  our  hearts  ! 
Our  frailties  help,  our  vice  control, 
Submit  the  senses  to  the  soul ; 
And  when  rebellious  they  are  grown, 
Then  lay  thy  hand,  and  hold  'em  down. 

Chase  from  our  minds  the  infernal  foe. 
And  peace,  the  fruit  of  love,  bestow  ; 
And  lest  our  feet  should  step  astray, 
Protect  and  guide  us  in  the  way. 

Make  us  eternal  truths  receive, 
And  practise. all  that  we  believe  : 
45 


610  THE  SECULAR  MASQUE. 

Give  us  thyself,  that  we  may  see 
The  Father,  and  the  Son,  by  thee. 
Immortal  honour,  endless  fame, 
Attend  the  Almighty  Father's  name : 
The  Saviour  Son  be  glorified, 
"Who  for  lost  man's  redemption  died  : 
And  equal  adoration  be, 
Eternal  Paraclete,  to  thee. 


THE  SECULAK  MASQUE. 

Enter  Janus. 
JANUS. 

Chronos,  Chronos,  mend  thy  pace, 
An  hundred  times  the  rolling  sun 
Around  the  radiant  belt  has  run 
In  his  revolving  race. 
Behold,  behold,  the  goal  in  sight. 
Spread  thy  fans,  and  wing  thy  flight. 

Enter  Chronos,  with  a  scythe  in  his  hand,  and  a  globe  on  hi$  back, 
which  he  sets  down  at  his  entrance. 

CHRONOS. 

Weary,  weary  of  my  weight, 

Let  me,  let  me  drop  my  freight, 

And  leave  the  world  behind. 

I  could  not  bear, 

Another  year, 
The  load  of  human-kind. 

Enter  Momus  laughing. 
MOMUS. 

Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  weU  hast  thou  done 

To  lay  down  thy  pack. 

And  lighten  thy  back. 
The  world  was  a  fool,  e'er  since  it  begun, 
And  since  neither  Janus,  nor  Chronos,  nor  I, 

Can  hinder  the  crimes, 

Or  mend  the  bad  times, 
'Tis  better  to  laugh  than  to  cry. 

CHORUS   OF  ALL  THREE. 

'Tia  better  to  laugh  than  to  crjr.  » 


The  Secular  Masque. 


"  "With  horns  and  with  hounds  I  waken  the  day, 
And  hie  to  the  woodland-walks  away." 


p.5n. 


THE  SECULAR  MASQUE.  511 

JANUS. 

Since  Momus  comes  to  laugh  below, 

Old  Time  begin  the  show, 
That  he  may  see,  in  every  scene, 
"What  changes  in  this  age  have  been. 

CHRONOS. 

Then  goddess  of  the  silver  bow  begin. 

[HornSf  or  hunting-music  within."] 

Enter  Diana. 

DIANA. 

With  horns  and  with  hounds,  I  waken  the  day  ; 
And  hie  to  the  woodland- walks  away  : 
I  tuck  up  my  robe,  and  am  buskin'd  soon, 
And  place  on  my  forehead  a  waxing  moon. 
T  course  the  fleet  stag,  unkennel  the  fox. 
And  chase  the  wild  goats  o'er  summits  of  rocks. 
With  shouting  and  hooting  we  pierce  through  the  sky, 
And  Echo  turns  hunter,  and  doubles  the  cry. 

CHORUS  OF  ALL, 

With  shouting  and  hooting  we  pierce  through  the  sky, 
And  Echo  turns  hunter  and  doubles  the  cry. 

JANUS. 

Then  our  age  was  in  its  prime ; 

CHRONOS. 

Free  from  rage : 

DIANA. 

• —  And  free  from  crime  : 

MOMUS. 

A  very  merry,  dancing,  drinking, 
Laughing,  quaffing,  and  unthinking  time. 

CHORUS  OF  ALL. 

Then  our  age  was  in  its  prime, 

Free  from  rage  and  free  from  crime,  * 

A  very  merry,  dancing,  drinking, 

Laughing,  quaffing,  and  unthinking  time. 

[Dancg  0/ Diana's  attendants.] 

Enter  Mars. 

MARS. 

Inspire  the  vocal  brass,  inspire  ; 
The  world  is  past  its  infant  a^e : 


512  THE  SECULAR  MASQUE. 

Arms  and  honour, 

Arms  and  honour, 
Set  the  martial  mind  on  fire, 
And  kindle  manly  rage. 
Mars  has  look'd  the  sky  to  red  ; 
And  Peace,  the  lazy  good,  is  fled. 
Plenty,  peace,  and  pleasure  fly  ; 

The  sprightly  green, 
In  woodland-walks  no  more  is  seen  ; 
The  sprightly  green  has  drunk  the  Tyrian  dyeu 

CHORUS   OF  ALL. 

Plenty,  peace,  &c. 

MARS. 

Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drum ; 
Through  all  the  world  around, 
Sound  a  reveille,  sound,  sound, 
The  warrior  god  is  come. 

CHORUS  OF  ALL. 

Sound  the  trumpet,  &c. 

MOMUS. 

Thy  sword  within  the  scabbard  keep, 

And  let  mankind  agree  ; 
Better  the  world  were  fast  asleep, 
Than  kept  awake  by  thee. 
The  fools  are  only  thinner. 

With  all  our  cost  and  care  ; 
But  neither  side  a  winner, 
For  things  are  as  they  were. 

CHORUS  OF  ALL. 

The  fools  are  only,  &c. 

Enter  Venus. 

VENUS. 

Calms  appear,  when  storms  are  past ; 
Love  will  have  his  hour  at  last : 
Nature  is  my  kindly  care ; 
Mars  destroys,  and  I  repair  ; 
Take  me,  take  me,  while  you  may, 
Venus  comes  not  every  day. 

CHORUS   OF  ALL. 

Take  her,  take  her,  &c. 


SONGS.  £13 

CHRONOS. 

The  world  was  then  so  light, 
I  scarcely  felt  the  weight ; 
Joy  ruled  the  day,  and  Love  the  night. 
But,  since  the  queen  of  pleasure  left  the  ground, 

I  faint,  I  lag, 

And  feebly  drag 
The  ponderous  orb  around. 

MOMUS. 

All,  all  of  a  piece  throughout : 
Thy  chace  had  a  beast  in  view ; 

[Pointing  to  Diana, 

Thy  wars  brought  nothing  about ;  [To  Mart. 

Thy  lovers  were  all  untrue.  [To  Feniu. 

JANUS. 

'Tis  well  an  old  age  is  out. 

CHRONOS. 

And  time  to  begin  a  new. 

CHORUS  OF  ALL. 

All,  all  of  a  piece  throughout : 

Thy  chace  had  a  beast  in  view ; 
Thy  wars  brought  nothing  about ; 

Thy  lovers  were  all  untrue. 
'Tis  well  an  old  age  is  out, 

And  time  to  begin  a  new. 

Dance  of  bunistnen,  nymphsi  warriorSf  and  lovers. 


OF  A  SCHOLAR  AND  HIS  MISTKESS, 

WHO  BEING  CROSSED  BY  THEIR  FRIENDS,  FEIiL  MAD  FOR  ONE 
ANOTHER;  AND  NOW  FIRST  MEET  IN  BEDLAM. 

[Music  within.} 

The  Lovers  enter  at  opposite  doors,  each  held  by  a  Keeper. 

PHILLIS. 

Look,  look,  I  see — 1  see  my  love  appear  ! 

'Tis  he Tis  he  alone ; 

For,  like  him,  there  is  none : 
Tis  the  dear,  dear  man,  'tis  thee,  dear. 
45* 


^4  SONG& 

AMTNTAS. 

Hark  !  the  winds  war  ; 

The  foamy  waves  roar  ; 

I  see  a  ship  afar, 
Tossing  and  tossing,  and  making  to  the  shore : 

But  what's  that  I  view, 

So  radiant  of  hue, 
St.  Hermo,  St.  Hermo,  that  sits  upon  the  sails  ? 

Ah  !  No,  no,  no. 
St.  Hermo,  never,  never  shone  so  bright ; 
'Tis  Phillis,  only  Phillis,  can  shoot  so  fair  a  light ; 
'Tis  Phillis,  'tis  Phillis,  that  saves  the  ship  alone. 
For  all  the  winds  are  hush'd,  and  the  storm  is  overblown. 

PHILLIS. 

Let  me  go,  let  me  run,  let  me  fly  to  his  arms. 

AMYNTAS. 

If  all  the  fates  combine, 
And  all  the  furies  join, 
I'll  force  my  way  to  Phillis,  and  break  through  the  charm. 

[Here  they  break  from  their  keepers,  run  to  each  other,  and  embrace.} 
PHILLIS. 

Shall  I  marry  the  man  I  love  ? 

And  shall  I  conclude  my  pains  ? 
Now  bless'd  be  the  Powers  above, 

I  feel  the  blood  bound  in  my  veins  ; 
With  a  lively  leap  it  began  to  move. 

And  the  vapours  leave  my  brains. 

AMYNTAS. 

Body  join'd  to  body,  and  heart  join'd  to  heart, 

To  make  sure  of  the  cure. 
Go  call  the  man  in  black,  to  mumble  o'er  his  part. 

PHILLIS. 

But  suppose  he  should  stay — 

AMYNTAS. 

At  worst  if  he  delay, 

'Tis  a  work  must  be  done, 
We'll  borrow  but  a  day. 
And  the  better,  the  sooner  begun. 

CHORUS  OF  BOTH. 

At  worst  if  he  delay,  &c. 

lX%ey  run  out  tcgiiier  hand  in  hanA,} 


SONGS.  615 


IN  "THE  INDIAN  EMPEKOR" 

Ah  fading  joy  !  how  quickly  art  thou  past ! 

Yet  we  thy  ruin  haste. 
As  if  the  cares  of  human  hfe  were  few, 

We  seek  out  new  : 
And  follow  fate,  which  would  too  fast  pursue* 
See,  how  on  every  bough  the  birds  express. 
In  their  sweet  notes,  their  happiness. 
They  all  enjoy,  and  nothing  spare  ; 
But  on  their  mother  Nature  lay  their  care  : 
Why  then  should  man,  the  lord  of  all  below, 
Such  troubles  choose  to  know. 
As  none  of  all  his  subjects  undergo  ? 

Hark,  hark,  the  waters  fall,  fall,  fall, 
And  with  a  murmuring  sound 
Dash,'  dash,  upon  the  ground. 
To  gentle  slumbers  call* 


IN  «  THE  INDIAN  EMPEROR." 

I  look'd  and  saw  within  the  book  of  fate. 

When  many  days  did  lour. 

When  lo  !  one  happy  hour 
Leap'd  up,  and  smiled  to  save  the  sinking  state  j 
A  day  shall  come  when  in  thy  power 

Thy  cruel  foes  shaU  be  ; 

Then  shall  thy  land  be  free  : 

And  then  in  peace  shall  reign  ; 
But  take,  oh  take  that  opportunity. 
Which  once  refused  will  never  come  again. 


IN  « THE  MAIDEN  QUEEN." 

I  FEED  a  flame  within,  which  so  torments  me, 
That  it  both  pains  my  heart,  and  yet  contents  me  : 
'Tis  such  a  pleasing  smart,  and  I  so  love  it. 
That  I  had  father  die,  than  once  remove  it. 
Yet  he,  for  whom  I  grieve,  shall  never  know  it ; 
My  tongue  does  not  betray,  nor  my  eyes  show  it. 


516  SONGS. 

Not  a  sigh,  nor  a  tear,  my  pain  discloses, 

But  they  fall  silently,  like  dew  on  roses. 

Thus,  to  prevent  my  love  from  being  cruel, 

My  heart 's  the  sacrifice,  as  'tis  the  fuel : 

And  while  I  suffer  this  to  give  him  quiet, 

My  faith  rewards  my  love,  though  he  deny  it. 

On  his  eyes  will  I  gaze,  and  there  delight  me  ; 

Where  I  conceal  my  love  no  frown  can  fright  mo  : 

To  be  more  happy,  I  dare  not  aspire  ; 

Nor  can  I  fall  more  low,  mounting  no  higher. 


IN  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  "THE  CONQUEST  OP 
GRANADA." 

Wherever  I  am,  and  whatever  I  do. 

My  Phillis  is  still  in  my  mind  ; 
When  angry,  I  mean  not  to  Phillis  to  go. 

My  feet,  of  themselves,  the  way  find  : 
Unknown  to  myself  I  am  just  at  her  door. 
And,  when  I  would  rail,  I  can  bring  out  no  more, 

Than,  Phillis,  too  fair  and  unkind  ! 
When  Phillis  I  see,  my  heart  bounds  in  my  breast, 

And  the  love  I  would  stifle  is  shown  ; 
But  asleep,  or  awake,  I  am  never  at  rest, 

When  from  my  eyes  Phillis  is  gone. 
Sometimes  a  sad  dream  does  delude  my  sad  mind ; 
But,  alas  !  when  I  wake,  and  no  PhiUis  I  find, 

How  I  sigh  to  myself  all  alone  ! 
Should  a  king  be  my  rival  in  her  I  adore, 

He  should  offer  his  treasure  in  vain  : 
Oh,  let  me  alone  to  be  happy  and  poor, 

And  give  me  my  Phillis  again ! 
Let  PhiUis  be  mine,  and  but  ever  be  kind, 
I  could  to  a  desert  with  her  be  confined, 

And  envy  no  monarch  Jiis  reign. 
Alas !  I  discover  too  much  of  my  love, 

And  she  too  well  knows  her  own  power ! 
She  makes  me  each  day  a  new  martyrdom  prove, 

And  makes  me  grow  jealous  each  hour  : 
But  let  her  each  minute  torment  my  poor  mind, 
L  had  rather  love  Phillis,  both  false  and  unkind, 

Thau  ever  be  freed  from  her  power. 


SONGS.  517 

IN  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  «  THE  CONQUEST  OF 
GRANADA." 

He.  How  unhappy  a  lover  am  I, 

While  1  sigh  for  my  Fhillis  in  vain  ; 
All  my  hopes  of  dehght 
Are  another  man's  right, 

Who  is  happy,  while  I  am  in  pain ! 

She.  Since  her  honour  allows  no  relief, 

But  to  pity  the  pains  which  you  bear, 

'Tis  the  best  of  your  fate, 

In  a  hopeless  estate, 

To  give  o'er,  and  betimes  to  despair. 

He.  I  have  tried  the  false  med'cine  in  vain  ; 
For  I  wish  what  I  hope  not  to  win  : 
From  without,  my  desire 
Has  no  food  to  its  fire  ; 

But  it  burns  and  consumes  me  within. 

She.  Yet,  at  least,  'tis  a  pleasure  to  know 
That  you  are  not  unhappy  alone  : 
For  the  nymph  you  adore 
Is  as  wretched,  and  more  ; 
And  counts  all  your  sufferings  her  own. 

He.  0  ye  gods,  let  me  suffer  for  both  ; 

At  the  feet  of  my  Phillis  I'll  lie  : 
I'll  resign  up  my  breath, 
And  take  pleasure  in  death. 
To  be  pitied  by  her  when  I  die. 

She.  What  her  honour  denied  you  in  life, 

In  her  death  she  will  give  to  your  love  ; 

Such  a  flame  as  is  true 

After  fate  will  renew. 

For  the  souls  to  meet  closer  above. 


THE  SEA-FIGHT,  IN  "  AMBOYNA." 

Who  ever  saw  a  noble  sight, 

That  never  view'd  a  brave  sea-fight ! 

Hang  up  your  bloody  colours  in  the  air. 

Up  with  your  fights,  and  your  nettings  prepare  ; 


618  SONGS. 

Your  merry  mates  cheer,  with  a  lusty  bold  spright, 

Now  each  man  his  brindice,  and  then  to  the  fight. 

St.  George,  St.  George,  we  cry  ; 

The  shouting  Turks  reply. 

Oh  now  it  begins,  and  the  gun-room  grows  hot, 

Ply  it  with  culverin  and  with  small  shot ; 

Hark,  does  it  not  thunder  1  no,  'tis  the  guns  roar, 

The  neighbouring  billows  are  turn'd  into  gore ; 

Now  each  man  must  resolve  to  die, 

For  here  the  coward  cannot  fly. 

Drums  and  trumpets  toll  the  knell, 

And  culverins  the  passing  bell. 

Now,  now  they  grapple,  and  now  board  amain  ; 

Blow  up  the  hatches,  they're  off  all  again  : 

Give  them  a  broadside,  the  dice  run  at  all, 

Down  comes  the  mast  and  yard,  §;nd  tacklings  fall ; 

She  grows  giddy  now,  like  blind  Fortune's  wheel, 

She  sinks  there,  she  sinks,  she  turns  up  her  keeL 

Who  ever  beheld  so  noble  a  sight, 

As  this  so  brave,  so  bloody  sea-tight ! 


INCANTATION  IN  (EDIPUS. 

Tir.  Choose  the  darkest  part  o'  the  grove, 
Such  as  ghosts  at  noon-day  love. 
Dig  a  trench,  and  dig  it  nigh 
Where  the  bones  of  Laius  lie  ; 
Altars  raised  of  turf  or  stone. 
Will  th'  infernal  pow'rs  have  none  ; 
Answer  me,  if  this  be  done  ? 

All  Pr.  'Tis  done. 

Tir,  Is  the  sacrifice  made  fit  ? 
Draw  her  backward  to  the  pit : 
Draw  the  barren  heifer  back  ; 
Barren  let  her  be,  and  black. 
Cut  the  curled  hair  that  grows 
Full  betwixt  her  horns  and  brows  : 
And  turn  your  faces  from  the  sun ; 
Answer  me,  if  this  be  done  ? 

All  Pr.  'Tis  done. 

Tir.  Pour  in  blood,  and  blood-like  wine, 
To  Mother  Earth  and  Proserpine : 


519 


Mingle  milk  into  the  stream ; 
Feast  the  ghosts,  that  love  the  steam : 
Snatch  a  brand,  from  funeral  pile ; 
Toss  it  in,  to  make  them  boil : 
And  turn  your  faces  from  the  sun ; 
Answer  me,  if  this  be  done  1 
All  Pr.  'Tisdone. 


IN  "  ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS." 

Cease,  Augusta  !  cease  thy  mourning, 

Happy  days  appear, 
God-like  Albion  is  returning, 

Loyal  hearts  to  cheer  ! 
Every  grace  his  youth  adorning. 
Glorious  as  the  star  of  morning. 

Or  the  planet  of  the  year. 


IN  "ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS." 

Albion,  by  the  nymph  attended, 
Was  to  Neptune  recommended. 

Peace  and  plenty  spread  the  sails  ; 
Venus,  in  her  shell  before  him. 
From  the  sands  in  safety  bore  him, 

And  supplied  Etesian  gales. 
Archon,  on  the  shore  commanding. 
Lowly  met  him  at  his  landing, 

Crowds  of  people  swarm'd  around ; 
Welcome,  rang  like  peals  of  thunder. 
Welcome,  rent  the  skies  asunder. 

Welcome,  heaven  and  earth  resound. 


IN  "ALBION  AND  ALBANIQS." 

Infernal  offspring  of  the  Night, 
Debarr'd  of  heaven  your  native  right. 
And  from  the  glorious  fields  of  light, 
Condemn'd  in  shades  to  drag  the  chain. 
And  fill  with  groans  the  gloomy  plain  ; 


620  SONGS. 

Since  pleasures  here  are  none  below, 
Be  ill  our  good,  our  joy  be  woe: 
Our  work  t'  embroil  the  worlds  above, 
Disturb  their  union,  disunite  their  love, 
And  blast  the  beauteous  frame  of  our  victorious  foe. 


IN  «  ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS." 

See  the  god  of  seas  attends  thee. 
Nymphs  divine,  a  beauteous  train  ; 
All  the  calmer  gales  befriend  thee 
In  thy  passage  o'er  the  main  : 
Every  maid  her  locks  is  binding, 
Every  Triton's  horn  is  winding, 
Welcome  to  the  watery  plain. 


IN  «  ALBION  AND  ALBANIUS.'* 

Albion,  loved  of  gods  and  men, 
Prince  of  Peace  too  mildly  reigning, 
Cease  thy  sorrow  and  complaining, 
Thou  shalt  be  restored  again : 
Albion,  loved  of  gods  and  men. 

Still  thou  art  the  care  of  heaven, 

In  thy  youth  to  exile  driven  : 

Heaven  thy  ruin  then  prevented. 

Till  the  guilty  land  repented : 

In  thy  age,  when  none  could  aid  thee, 

Foes  conspired,  and  friends  betray'd  thee. 

To  the  brink  of  danger  driven, 

StiU  thou  art  the  care  of  Heaven. 


SONGS.  521 


IN  '*  KING  ARTHUR." 

Where  a  battle  is  supposed  to  be  given  behind  the  scenes,  with  drums, 
trumpets,  and  military  shouts  and  excursions :  after  which  the  Britons, 
expressing  their  joy  for  the  victory,  sing  this  song  of  triumph. 

(set  by  purcell.) 

Come,  if  you  dare,  our  trumpets  sound ; 

Come,  if  you  dare,  the  foes  rebound  : 

We  come,  we  come,  we  come,  we  come, 

Says  the  double,  double,  double  beat  of  the  thundering  drum. 

Now  they  charge  on  amain. 

Now  they  rally  again  : 
The  gods  from  above  the  mad  labour  behold, 
And  pity  mankind,  that  will  perish  for  gold. 

The  fainting  Saxons  quit  their  ground. 
Their  trumpets  languish  in  the  sound  : 
They  fly,  they  fly,  they  fly,  th^  fly  ; 
Victoria !  Victoria  !  the  bold  Britons  cry. 

Now  the  victory's  won. 

To  the  plunder  we  run  : 
We  return  to  our  lasses  like  fortunate  traders, 
Triumphant  with  spoils  of  the  vanquish'd  invaders. 


IN  "  KING  ARTHUR." 

Man  sinf/s.  Oh  sight,  the  mother  of  desires, 
What  charming  objects  dost  thou  yield ! 

'Tis  sweet,  when  tedious  night  expires, 
To  see  the  rosy  morning  gild 
The  mountain-tops,  and  paint  the  field ! 
But  when  Clarinda  comes  in  sight, 
She  makes  the  summer's  day  more  bright ; 
And  when  she  goes  away,  'tis  night. 

Chor.  When  fair  Clarinda  comes  in  sight,  «&;g. 
46 


522  SONG*. 

jrom.  sings.  *Tis  sweet  the  blushing  morn  to  view ; 
And  plains  adorn'd  with  pearly  dew  ; 
But  such  cheap  delights  to  see, 
Heaven  and  nature 
Give  each  creature ; 
They  have  eyes,  as  well  as  we : 
This  is  the  joy,  all  joys  above, 
To  see,  to  see, 
That  only  she. 
That  only  she  we  love  ! 

Chor.  This  is  the  joy,  all  joys  above,  &c. 


IN  "  KING  ABTHUE." 

Two  daughters  of  this  aged  stream  are  we ; 

And  both  our  sea-green  locks  have  comb'd  for  thee ; 

Come  bathe  with  us  an  hour  or  two, 

Come  naked  in,  for  we  are  so  : 

What  danger  from  a  naked  foe  ? 

Come  bathe  with  us,  come  bathe  and  share 

What  pleasures  in  the  floods  appear  ; 

We  'U  beat  the  waters  till  they  bound. 

And  circle  round,  around,  around, 

And  circle  round,  around. 


IN  "  KING  ARTHUR."    TO  BRITANNIA. 
I. 

Ye  blustering  brethren  of  the  skies, 

Whose  breath  has  ruffled  all  the  watery  plain, 

Retire,  and  let  Britannia  rise. 
In  triumph  o'er  the  main. 

Serene  and  calm,  and  void  of  fear. 
The  Queen  of  Islands  must  appear : 
Serene  and  calm,  as  when  the  Spring 
The  new-created  world  began. 
And  birds  on  boughs  did  softly  sing 
Their  peaceful  homage  paid  to  man  ; 


SONGS.  523 

While  Eurus  did  his  blasts  forbear, 

In  favour  of  the  tender  year. 

Retreat,  rude  winds,  retreat 

To  hollow  rocks,  your  stormy  seat ; 

There  sweU  your  lungs,  and  vainly,  vainly  threat* 


For  folded  flocks,  on  fruitful  plains, 
The  shepherd's  and  the  farmer's  gains, 

Fair  Britain  all  the  world  outvies  ; 
And  Pan,  as  in  Arcadia,  reigns, 

Where  pleasure  mixed  with  profit  lies. 

Though  Jason's  fleece  was  famed  of  old. 
The  British  wool  is  growing  gold ; 

No  mines  can  more  of  wealth  supply; 
It  keeps  the  peasant  from  the  cold. 

And  takes  for  kings  the  Tyrian  dye. 


III. 
(set  by  purcell.) 

Fairest  isle,  all  isles  excelling, 
Seat  of  pleasures  and  of  loves  : 

Venus  here  will  choose  her  dwelling, 
And  forsake  her  Cyprian  groves. 

Cupid  from  his  favourite  nation. 
Care  and  envy  will  remove  ; 

Jealousy,  that  poisons  passion, 
And  despair,  that  dies  for  love. 

Gentle  murmurs,  sweet  complaining, 
Sighs,  that  blow  the  fire  of  love  ; 

Soft  repulses,  kind  disdaining, 
Shall  be  all  the  pains  you  prove. 

Every  swain  shall  pay  his  duty. 
Grateful  every  nymph  shall  prove ; 

And  as  these  excel  in  beauty, 
Those  shall  be  renown'd  for  love. 


5^^  SONGS. 


IN  «  LOVE  TRIUMPHANT." 

What  state  of  life  can  be  so  blest 
As  love,  that  warms  a  lover's  breast  ? 
Two  souls  in  one,  the  same  desire 
To  grant  the  bliss,  and  to  require ! 
But  if  in  heaven  a  hell  we  find, 

'Tis  aU  from  thee, 

O  Jealousy ! 

'Tis  all  from  thee, 

0  Jealousy ! 
Thou  tyrant,  tyrant  Jealousy, 
Thou  tyrant  of  the  mind! 

All  other  ills,  though  sharp  they  prove, 
Serve  to  refine,  and  perfect  love : 
In  absence,  or  unkind  disdain, 
Sweet  hope  relieves  the  lover's  pain. 
But,  ah!  no  cure  but  death  we  find. 

To  set  us  free 

From  Jealousy : 

O  Jealousy ! 
Thou  tyrant,  tyrant  Jealousy, 
Thou  tyrant  of  the  mind ! 

False  in  thy  glass  all  objects  are. 
Some  set  too  near,  and  some  too  far ; 
Thou  art  the  tire  of  endless  night. 
The  fire  that  burns,  and  gives  no  light. 
AU  torments  of  the  damn'd  we  find 

In  only  thee, 

O  Jealousy! 

Thou  tyrant,  tyrant  Jealousy, 
Thou  tyrant  of  the  mind ! 


THB  END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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